


Blood for Life

by icantwritegood



Series: Blood [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hate Sex, Toxic Relationship, Violence, also nuns, also there's gonna be a new villain, cricket noises, i'm just trying to tag everything i can think of cuz i realized maybe i didnt tag it appropriately, if this was a tv show it'd be tagged Violence and Flashing Images, it's not lovey-dovey just a warning, sex that's consensual but not safe or sane, tinsley goes dark! in this, yeah and like all the rest of my characters are dead so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:31:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 54,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18694279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: "Demons run when a good man goes to war.Night will fall and drown the sun, when a good man goes to war.Friendship dies and true love lies.Night will fall and the dark will rise,When a good man goes to war."





	1. Running Out

The house smelled different nowadays. It smelled of fear and it smelled of cold and when he passed the cellar door it smelled of nothing but bad intent. That was where the Tall Man was. He’d never liked him, from the very start. He was bigger than a normal human, and he carried malice with him. The whole time. It had taken a while for his owner to realize, but it seemed that he had, and Diablo had been part of the game. And he’d almost had the Tall Man, until his owner ordered him not to bite. He wouldn’t disobey his owner. He was a good person.

Diablo wandered down the halls, paws clicking against the wooden floors. He sniffed the air; there was a smell of smoke in the air recently, drifting from the town below, but right now he could smell a more delicious smoke. He trotted to the kitchens. He saw the grey cat try to dart past him, but a quick snap and a snarl put her in her place. He pushed onto his hind legs and opened the kitchen door. He stood in the doorway. The Calm Man was on his way to the door with a tray of food. He eyed Diablo warily, coming to a halt on the tiles. He seemed to be waiting for Diablo to move. Diablo wasn’t going to move. Not until he had whatever was on that tray in his mouth.

The Calm Man cleared his throat. “Shoo. Go away.”

Diablo moved towards him, snout up to sniff at the tray. The Calm Man moved around the counter away from him, holding the tray tight in white gloved hands. Diablo’s ears suddenly pricked; there was someone in the house, someones, and they were strangers. He bounded back out into the halls. The grey cat hissed at him from the table she was hiding under. He didn’t like her. She always got treats from the Calm Man while he was never given anything. The thought didn’t occupy him for long.

He could smell the strangers; they were in the dining room. He moved towards the half-open door, tail wagging. Then the Grey Woman appeared in the gap and gave him a disapproving look as she shut the door over.

Holly turned back to the few townsfolk. There was the butcher, the grocer, the baker, the doctor. They each looked anxious. She took a deep breath, sitting back down at the head of the table.

“None of you?”

They each shook their heads. The grocer spoke through his beard.

“I haven’t been delivered a fresh fruit or veg in weeks. I get all my produce from out of town.”

“And I’m almost run out too,” said the butcher with a fierce nod. “Absolutely nothing. My boy caught a few rabbits yesterday but there’s no sheep, no cows, no nothing within borders.”

“The supplies in the clinic are running low too,” said the doctor, tucking her short blonde hair behind her ear. It seemed to be a nervous tick of sorts. “Hardly any penicillin left.”

Holly chewed on her lip. She took off her glasses and gave them a clean on a napkin and slipped them back on. She twiddled her thumbs. “And none of your suppliers are agreeing to come out?”

“They think it’s too dangerous to come into the town,” said the baker. His hands were unusually clean; not too long ago they were never without flour. “They’re afraid they won’t make it out again.”

Holly knew this was a lie. It was the remaining families. They wanted nothing to do with Ricky, and wanted him to have nothing to do with them. So essentially, they wanted him dead. A direct attack hadn’t worked, so it seemed that they were going to try and starve them out. She cleared her throat, keeping her gaze lowered, her fingers linked on the table.

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll speak to Mr Goldsworth about your concerns.”

The small group left. The Mayor came in. He closed the door behind him. He had a plate in one hand and a cup and saucer in the other. He pulled a face.

“As you feared?”

She sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Exactly as I’d feared.”

The Mayor hovered at the end of the table. Then he strode up, placing the plate and the tea beside her. She stared at the food before saying: “A bacon sarnie?”

“Yes. I believe you once said it was a British delicacy?”

She laughed, a rare sound. “Somewhat. Thank you, James.” She picked up the sandwich. “I don’t think we’ll have much more of these to go round before long.”

The Mayor nodded and began to leave. Holly’s quiet voice stopped him.

“Have you checked on him?”

He turned back slowly, hands clasped behind his back. “Not since last night, ma’am. I haven’t had the opportunity to since.”

She stirred her tea distractedly. Then she nodded. “Very well. I'll check later.”

She drank her tea slowly. Check on Tinsley, check on Ricky. That seemed to be her life for the last two months. Check Tinsley was still alive down in that dark cellar, check Ricky hadn't taken to pulling wings off flies in his spare time as lord of the foreseeable future. Check Tinsley hadn't gone insane in the dark, wasn't frothing at the mouth with hate. Check Ricky wasn't planning anymore atrocities since the church. The church. The body count had come back; forty people, burned by the flames or crushed by the rubble. She observed her empty cup, poked at the tea leaves with her spoon. Supposedly one could read one's fortune from tea leaves. She mixed them more vigorously; she didn't quite want to see her future. It probably wasn't the brightest.

She checked on Ricky first. He was watching himself closely in the mirror, watching his face as he traced his fingers along his jaw, his other hand on the dresser for balance. Holly raised an eyebrow.

"Apologies if I'm disturbing your preening."

He looked over his shoulder at her with a smile. He had every right to preen, she supposed. She'd preen all day and night if she had even an ounce of such looks. But she wouldn't use them for what he used them for; to lure in prey, to trick them into believing that he was just a tasty meal, and not their worst nightmare. Although perhaps he wasn't quite nightmare material. One would have to be quite imaginative indeed to dream up a beast like Ricky Goldsworth. 

"I'll take a break for now, I guess."

He crossed the room towards her, picking up some hair gel and rubbing it between his hands before pushing it back through his hair. He'd taken to doing so, to half-heartedly attempting to keep his dark hair off his face. It looked nice. She didn't say so. She doubted he needed anymore acknowledgements of his looks.

"The supplies from outside of town aren't coming in," she said, letting him pass by into the hall. She followed him, staying at his shoulder. "Absolutely nothing."

His reply was flippant. "Oh. Why?"

"Why?" She stopped walking at his audacity. He stopped a few steps ahead, turning with a roll of his eyes. "Because you killed nearly half a hundred people, Ricardo. You made a mistake in doing that. And you knew it was a mistake, because you didn't have the courage to tell me."

He looked at her in cold silence. Then he crossed the space between them, having to tilt his head back a tad to maintain eye contact. "I didn't tell you because I don't value your advice anymore. Not because I'm afraid of what you'll say to me."

She sighed sharply. "Your mother would be disappointed in you, Ricky. She would."

"My mother would be _alive_ if it wasn't for those people in that church!" he snarled back, fists clenching by his sides. "One of them killed her. Poisoned her. One of them took her from me and I never even got the chance to say goodbye." He paused to take a few breaths, eyes closing. His face relaxed. "And now they're nothing but ashes. Tell me how that isn't justice."

"It was justice for no one but you, Ricky. And that's called vengeance."

"Fine." He turned away, signifying the end of the argument. "It was vengeance. I don't care what you want to call it. It made me happy."

"It will only make you happy for a little while," she said, staying where she was in the middle of the hall as he strode off. "Just like Tinsley."

Ricky slowed at this, a hand resting on the wall of the corner he was about to turn. He seemed to think for a few moments, raising his head. Then he simply said: "No. No, he makes me happier now than he ever used to."

* * *

Ricky paused outside the cellar door, putting his ear to it with a smile. There was no sound. He raised a hand and knocked three times, sharp. "Tinsley, baby?"

Not a peep. Ricky opened the door, letting the dim light fall into the room. There were empty wine bottles strewn across the stone. Some of them were cracked, smashed, glittering glass. He waited for his eyes to adjust. He smiled at the figure sitting in the corner.

"You're not going to say hello?"

Tinsley sat with one leg out and one propped up. He was holding his tie in his hands, picking and picking at the red fabric. He kept his head ducked, his face hidden. Ricky moved towards him, avoiding the glass.

"C'mon, Tinman. Don't throw a strop again."

Tinsley raised his head slightly. His eyes glittered furious in the dark. He picked and picked at the tie. It was threaded by now. He pulled it apart bit by bit. His eyes didn't leave Ricky's.

"I know I haven't been down to see you in a while," said Ricky, smiling apologetically. "I've been very busy."

Tinsley finally let the tie alone. He rested his head back against the wall, rested his arm over his propped knee. When he spoke, his voice was croaky. "I'm sure."

Ricky crouched down beside him, elbows resting on his knees. "You sound thirsty."

Tinsley swallowed. He was thirsty. He hadn't been given even a drop of water for a day. Maybe two days. He didn't know. It felt like a month. He watched Ricky sidelong.

"And are you hungry?" said Ricky, brows raised in a deceivingly nurturing manner. "Have they brought you food?"

Tinsley didn't reply straight away. When he did, it was forcefully monotonous. "No."

"Oh. And why do you think that was?"

Tinsley's fists clenched where they were, his nails digging into his palms. He didn't react when he felt Ricky's fingers hot under his jaw, turning his head to face him. Ricky smiled.

"Why do you think that was, Tinsley."

Tinsley swallowed hard. His eyes fluttered just at the gentle touch of the other man. He hadn't felt such a touch in an eternity. He could feel his eyes growing watery. "I- I-"

"You- You hit one of the guards, didn't you?"

Tinsley nodded, closing his eyes as he felt the thumb brushing his cheek. He whispered the word. "Yes."

"And are you sorry?"

Tinsley pressed his lips in a line, keeping his eyes closed. He nodded again.

"Say you're sorry," said Ricky softly, cupping his face with both hands. "And I'll show you my gratitude."

Tinsley lifted his own hand to one of Ricky's, his throat working before he spoke. "I'm sorry."

"Good. Good, I'm glad you're sorry." He gave him a gentle kiss, a soft one, light as a dream, before straightening up. Tinsley had moved forwards now, still sitting, his hands pressed to the cold stone. His head stayed ducked. "But you didn't sound quite convincing."

Tinsley looked up at him, his eyes widening. "I- I meant-"

"Maybe we'll try again tomorrow."

"Ricky please. _Please_." He scrambled after him, his body numb from having been sitting on cold stone for so long. "Please don't leave me down here. Please. PLEASE!"

Ricky stopped at the door, looking back around as he felt Tinsley latch onto him, down on his knees. "Are you sorry?"

"I'm sorry." Tinsley sobbed the words into the man's shirt, fingers digging into him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't leave me here. I can't stand it. I'm sorry."

Ricky absent-mindedly let his hand drift down to run through the man's thick hair. It had grown shaggy, as dark as the beard he was now sporting. "Well then maybe next time, you say hello to me when I come in. Manners don't cost a penny."

Tinsley looked up at him with tears in his eyes. He didn't let go of him. "Ricky. Ricky, just- At least give me a glass of water. Just some goddamn water."

"I'll think about it."

Tinsley stayed where he was as Ricky continued on. He sat back on his knees, watching the man swan off into the dim light from outside. He waited until the door had been shut, until he heard the bolt slide into place. Then he fell forwards onto his elbows and tried to scream. He couldn't manage it; his throat was too dry. He crawled back to where he'd started, breathing heavily, shakily, his vision swimming. He thought it was swimming. He wasn't sure in the darkness. He lay on his side and put his head on the waistcoat he'd started using as a makeshift pillow. For a few minutes he just cried in silence. He was surprised he even had enough water to spare for tears.

They appeared again. Just as they'd appeared the night before. There wasn't a flash, or a puff of smoke. It just seemed that his eyes adjusted to them, and they were there. The clerical collar was the first thing visible.

"We all knew." The Minister nodded his head continuously as he spoke, so convincing. "We all knew you'd fail. Aye, from the start."

Tinsley mumbled into the waistcoat. "I didn't know."

"You didn't know what?" grumbled Fear. He couldn't see him. It was just his voice, as rough as the stone Tinsley was lying on. "That you'd fall in love with the crazy bastard?"

"I didn't." Tinsley lifted a shaky hand to draw away a tear. "I didn't. I don't."

"I never saw snow," said Banjo. He was just a shadow, so far away. The room stretched on and on. "That's all I wanted, you know. You said you'd help us."

"The ashes," whispered Tinsley, hoarse. "They looked like snow."

"You said you'd help and you didn't." The Minister tutted. "You failed."

"He always fails." It was a woman's voice. It was horribly familiar. "Don't you, Charlie?"

Tinsley looked at her vague silhouette, his eyes wide. "Yes."

"You failed so many times. And even in the end, you still failed."

"I know. I know." He swallowed his tears, propping himself on an unsteady elbow. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I tried. I tried so hard."

"Not hard enough." Ros shook her head; her hair moved with the gesture. "She would have been eleven this year. Eleven years old."

Tinsley shook his head, his fists clenching. "Don't. Don't."

"You didn't check on her. It was your fault."

"Don't." Tinsley crawled towards her, the tears hot down his cheeks. "Don't, please. I didn't know. How- How could I have? The doctor said. The doctor _said_."

"Do you ever just do something right?" said Fear. "Do you always fumble and flail like a fool?"

"Shut up. Shut up." Tinsley couldn't move much further. He collapsed forwards, his head buried in his elbow as he cried. "Shut up."

They didn't shut up, not once. Half an hour later the lock jiggled. Tinsley still lay in the exact same place, his eyes open, blank. The door creaked open. He propped himself up on an elbow with a struggle. A white gloved hand darted into the room and placed a wine bottle on the ground before vanishing. The door closed.

Tinsley crawled to the bottle. It was open already. He put a taste on his tongue; water. It was water. He drank it so fast it hurt. Then he realized why the Mayor had put the water in the wine bottle. Ricky wouldn't even notice an extra bottle among the others. Tinsley finished the drink with a hard sigh, already feeling better. He sat back against the door, holding the bottle in both hands. It was the hunger that was gnawing at him now. He didn't mind. It kept him from going insane in this pit. He had the hunger to focus on. It wasn't just a hunger for food.

He thought about Ricky. He thought about taking a knife and driving it into his chest, over and over and over until he couldn't be seen for the blood. He thought about wrapping his hands around Ricky's neck and killing him slowly, so slowly, a bit at a time. He thought about bending him over the nearest piece of furniture and fucking him until he screamed. He thought about killing him and kissing him and both thoughts were just as appealing as the other. His hands twisted and wrung the neck of the wine bottle.

The door shook. Tinsley snapped back to reality; he'd been nodding off. He moved away from the door, watching the gap for Ricky to come through. It wasn't Ricky.

"Tinsley?" Holly's voice was quiet, whispered. "Tinsley, are you here?"

He replied. "Yes."

"...A silly question, I suppose. I brought you this." She extended her hand; it looked like bread. "Take it, quick. And don't leave crumbs."

Tinsley didn't need more of an invitation. He took the food and by the time he'd wolfed it down she was gone. He sat in the dark, alone. He was tired of being alone. But the thought of being with other people was tiring too. He sat back against the wall, arms around his knees, one hand raking through his hair. He didn’t sleep a wink. He didn’t move a muscle. The door opened hours later. A guard came in and brought him out. It was Harrison. Tinsley had heard his name. Harrison. He was married to another guard, a woman called Hale. Harrison and Hale. Hale and Harrison. Tinsley was brought to a bathroom and pushed inside and the door was locked. He stood in the sterility for a while. He looked at himself in the mirror. God, he looked awful. He moved closer, touching the dark circles under his eyes like they might come off like paint. He could see the hair at his temples was growing paler, striking against the darkness of his beard. He searched for a razor. There wasn’t one. Someone knocked on the door. They handed in clean clothes and a towel. Tinsley dumped them on the floor. He had a shower; the heat of the water had him feeling faint.

He felt marginally better afterwards, although the anxiety had settled in now. He wasn’t sure why he was being let clean himself up. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to him. He wished he had a razor.

When he was done he was brought further into the manor. It was evening. The glow from the oil lamps hurt his eyes; he shielded them under a hand. The guards left him outside Ricky’s room after they’d knocked. He placed a hand on his chest; his heart was skipping beats at a time. The door opened. Ricky smiled up at him.

“Yeah. That’s better. You were looking a bit scruffy. I didn’t care for it.”

He waved for Tinsley to come in. Tinsley went in, holding one wrist in the other hand, rubbing and rubbing. He stood in the middle of the room, watching Ricky go to the table at the end of the bed. There was a brass wash basin with hot water; the steam rose off it in wisps. There was a clean towel. There was a straight razor, shining against the dark wood of the table. Tinsley watched warily as Ricky picked it up and flicked it open before smiling warmly.

“Sit.”

Tinsley sat on the offered chair. His eyes darted around the room. He stiffened as he felt Ricky’s hand slide around from behind to cup his jaw, brushing a thumb across his skin. The beard scratched. Ricky moved around to stand in front of him. He tucked a finger under his chin, tilting his head back. Tinsley kept his gaze lowered.

“If you’re going to be walking around in my sights, I want the beard gone. It annoys me.”

Tinsley swallowed. “Okay.”

Ricky smiled. “Okay.”

There was a light knock on the door. Ricky told the Mayor to come in. The Mayor went to Tinsley and avoided his eyes as he brushed a layer of foam over the offending beard. Tinsley didn’t take his eyes from the Mayor’s face, begging for him to look back. _Help me_ , he wanted to say. _Please help me_. But the Mayor left with the bowl of shaving foam. The door closed. Tinsley closed his eyes.

“Now stay still.” Ricky had his sleeves rolled up. He swished the blade in the water before moving back to Tinsley. “Would be a pity if my hand slipped, wouldn’t it.”

Tinsley didn’t know whether it would be a pity or not. He gripped the bottom of the chair as Ricky casually sat across his lap, taking him by the throat in one hand to keep him still. Tinsley’s heartbeat spiked unpleasantly.

“No sudden movements,” said Ricky softly, tilting Tinsley’s head aside a tad. He gripped him by the hair. “Okay?”

Tinsley swallowed hard, his eyes squeezed shut as he felt the blade meet his skin. It was starkly cold as it slid across his cheek. Ricky’s breath was hot on his mouth. His brows drew together, his lips pressing in a line. He heard the blade being swished in the water again. Ricky readjusted his seating, pushing his hips further up on the other man’s. Tinsley’s hands took hold of them, tight at first, but they loosened swiftly. Reflex. Ricky smiled. He ran the blade along Tinsley’s jaw, right to his chin. He saw the man’s throat move as he swallowed.

“Do you want to get out of the cellar?” asked Ricky distractedly, his eyes watching the blade as it flashed.

Tinsley’s eyes opened ever so slightly. He looked at him sidelong from behind his lashes. “Yes.”

He sat back, one hand holding Tinsley’s shoulder for balance as he reached aside to swish the blade again. He sat forwards, pressing his body against Tinsley’s. “How much?”

Tinsley let his head be tilted the other way, struggling to ignore the feeling of Ricky’s body against his. It felt warm and solid and he couldn’t help it as his fingers slipped under the man’s shirt to just be able to touch his skin. He mentally cursed himself. “A lot.”

“You can’t stand it, isn’t that what you said?” Ricky kept his lowered gaze on the other man’s mouth, their noses almost touching they were so close. “It must get lonely.”

Tinsley took a steadying breath, refusing to open his eyes. He thought he could feel Ricky’s lips brushing his as he talked. He was too afraid to check. “Sometimes.”

He let out a quiet breath as he felt Ricky’s hand take hold of his jaw and draw him just that bit closer. Then his head was pushed back, forcing him to bare his throat. Tinsley felt the man’s hips grind against his ever so subtly as he did so, making his breath freeze in his chest. Ricky placed the edge of the razor against his throat, watching with almost curious eyes. Then he just pushed it upwards, finishing at the man’s chin. He leaned aside, dropping the razor into the washbasin. He got the towel and wiped Tinsley’s face free of foam. The detective hadn’t opened his eyes even once for the duration of the process. He kept them closed now.

Ricky leaned in, placing a soft kiss on the side of the man’s neck. “Better.”

Tinsley let his eyes open as he felt Ricky’s mouth pressing kisses up along the side of his neck. He wasn’t sure what it felt like. Maybe it felt nice. But then why were his eyes watering? He closed his eyes, the tears squeezing out when Ricky kissed him on the cheek. The tears continued in silence, dripping down his face when Ricky kissed him on the mouth, lightly. Tinsley didn't react, his lips staying parted as Ricky closed his teeth on the bottom one, pulling slightly. Tinsley didn't open his eyes. He let himself be kissed, let Ricky slip his tongue into his mouth, and he kissed him back, leaning forwards into it, and he broke off as he started crying harder, turning his head aside. Ricky tutted, getting off him.

“Don’t be like that.”

Tinsley wiped his eyes with his hands, messy. He sniffed, a wet sound. “Sorry.”

"Forget it," said Ricky airily, pouring himself a drink. He dropped some ice into it. "I'm not really in the mood anymore now."

Tinsley raised his head at this, looking at Ricky's back with watery eyes. He imagined ten thousand knives in it. The thought made a smile pull at his mouth. Ricky turned to him, arching a dark eyebrow at the look on the other man's face. He lit a distracted cigarette, speaking around it.

"What's the smiling about?"

Tinsley blinked himself back to reality. He cleared his throat. "Can I have a cigarette."

Ricky pondered this. Then he shrugged, moving towards him and handing him the cigarette he'd been smoking. Tinsley took it with hesitance, waiting for it to be pulled away, for some trick to reveal itself. Ricky smiled, letting him take it, letting their fingers brush. Then he lit a replacement one, wandering back to where he'd been standing.

"You know, I almost miss your presence around the place," he said absent-mindedly, sparing a glance out the window. The sun was setting far beyond the sea. "You were a breath of fresh air, for a while."

Tinsley took a hard drag on his cigarette, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched the man's hips move as he walked. Once, he would've responded with some witticism, or some slap of a comment. But now he knew better. He knew the lay low and stay still and play dead. He let Ricky continue talking to the warm air in the room.

"So I'll consider letting you around the house," he said, turning to face him with a hand in one pocket. "On the condition that you don't make me unhappy. Does that sound fair?"

Tinsley looked up at him with unblinking eyes. "Sure."

"Great." Ricky tapped the ash from his cigarette into the glass ashtray beside him. "Just don't forget that condition next time."

Tinsley went still, watching him warily as he moved towards the door. Ricky let two guards in, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder as they took hold of Tinsley, pulling him upright. He felt his heart begin to race in his chest at the thought of going back down to that dungeon of a cellar. He struggled a bit, but he knew not to bother wasting his energy. Ricky wasn't going to change his mind. He never changed his mind about anything. Tinsley only let himself collapse into a mess again when he was down in the dark, hidden away. He sobbed and screamed and banged his fists on the door for an hour straight, until blood had appeared on his fingers. No one was going to come for him. No one but the ghosts.

* * *

It had been about a day or maybe two. It didn’t matter. It was morning again anyway. Ricky positively skipped down the hall. He hopped down the stairs to the cellar and slid the bolt back. He pushed open the door, letting himself lean in with it.

"Tinsley, baby?"

Again, no reply. Ricky moved into the room, watching the corner where Tinsley had seemingly taken up residence. He was still there, sat leaning against the wall, one forearm covering his face. He didn't look up at the sound of Ricky's footsteps. His eyes were fixed to the floor.

Ricky crouched down again. He let a hand move to slip around Tinsley's forearm and grip it tight, drawing it away from the man's face with a bit of resistance. Tinsley watched him sidelong. His eyes seemed brighter today, in a feverish way. Ricky's gaze trailed over his face, quite smug.

"You don't want to say hello?"

Tinsley's reply was flat. "No."

"Pity." Ricky let go of his arm, straightening up again. "You were always very stubborn. Headstrong. I suppose I used to like it."

Tinsley used the wall for balance as he got to his feet. His hand slipped against the stone. He stood over Ricky, looking down into his black eyes. They weren't afraid. They were sparkling with mischief. Tinsley used to like them. Now he wanted to gouge them out. He swallowed hard.

"What do you want?" Ricky tilted his head aside, openly patronising. "Do you want to get out? Do you want to go outside?"

Tinsley nodded slowly. His dark eyes trailed over the shorter man's pretty face. He wanted to cave it in. "More than anything."

Ricky smiled, seemingly satisfied with the state Tinsley was in. "Good." But another twenty-four hours wouldn't do him any harm.

He'd just opened his mouth to say so when Tinsley leaned in and kissed him, grabbing his face, so intense it burned. He was a bit startled, to say the least. He let his eyes open gradually when Tinsley broke away. The taller man leaned back against the wall, burying his face in his hands. He was a complete mess. Just the way Ricky liked it.

"Now you're getting the gist," said Ricky quietly.

Tinsley dropped his hands back to his sides, his gaze lowered. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to risk it. He just waited until Ricky had decided on what he was going to do. Ricky smiled up at him, darling.

“Are you hungry?”

Tinsley nodded yes.

“Then let’s have dinner.”

* * *

The food was good. The food had always been good. It was making him feel sick. He poked at the pasta with a fork. He could feel Holly looking at him. He could feel the Mayor looking at him. He didn’t want to look back. He didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes. They had been kind to him, but only just. A handful of food there, a bit of water whenever they thought of it. He knew where their loyalties still lay. It sickened him, angered him. He just stabbed at the pasta that tasted like cardboard. He felt sick.

“You’ve lost weight,” commented Ricky, twirling his own pasta around his fork.

Tinsley slowly raised his gaze to Ricky’s, heavy-lidded. “Okay.”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“Okay.”

Ricky raised an eyebrow at the flat response. He nodded at the man’s plate. “So eat.”

Tinsley looked back down at his dinner. He placed his fork aside. Ricky smiled across the table.

“You're not eating.”

Tinsley didn't look at him. He sat how he'd been sitting, shoulders hunched, hands under the table. They were clenched into fists, hidden away. “I'm not hungry.”

“You have to be hungry.”

Tinsley raised his gaze, surprisingly fierce. “I'm not hungry.”

Ricky's eyes narrowed. He set his elbows on the table. “I said eat.”

Tinsley took a deep breath, letting it out sharply. He picked up his fork, and he drove it down onto the plate hard enough to crack the edge clean off. Holly froze in the ensuing silence, watching Tinsley's arm shaking as he kept a white-knuckled grip on the fork, his eyes locked on Ricky's. Ricky stared back coolly, taking a mouthful of wine. The cutlery was still shaking on the table.

“Manners, Tinsley. They don't cost a penny.”

Tinsley gritted his teeth so hard he couldn't begin to reply. He tossed the fork onto the table, getting to his feet.

"I'm tired," he muttered, looking down at the shattered plate, watching the sauce leak onto the table like blood. "I want to go to sleep."

"Fine." Ricky shrugged his shoulders, chin resting in his hand. "You can stay in one of the spare rooms. But don't have any thoughts of sneaking out in the middle of the night, okay? I'll be just across the hall." He looked at him, their eyes fixed on each other. "And I haven't been sleeping very well lately."

Tinsley stood at the side of the table for a tense minute. Then he whipped away, striding out the door. Two guards followed him, as they’d been ordered to. Ricky raised his eyebrows in a disapproving manner, passing a piece of bread to Diablo under the table. Victoria grumbled her disapproval from a nearby chair.

“You're being very cruel to him,” said Holly, not feeling all too hungry herself. She put her fork down. “He doesn't deserve this.”

“He deserves what I say he deserves.” He'd stopped eating. He was more focused on the wine now. "Everyone does. So stop trying to tell me what to do or so help me God you'll be next."

The words were so icy she couldn't help but freeze. She spared a sidelong look at him; he was glowering over his wine at the far wall. Then he got to his feet abruptly and left the room. The door slammed behind him. Holly eyed the dinners still left on both his plate and Tinsley's. She looked at the Mayor, who stood against the wall, looking just a bit worn out. She got to her feet, giving her mouth a wipe with a napkin.

"Don't throw these away, Mayor. And don't give them to the animals either." She moved to the drinks cabinet and made herself up a small gin and seltzer. "We'll have them tomorrow night."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I have a feeling we'll have to get used to leftovers," she mumbled into her glass before taking a sip. "If Ricky doesn't cop on soon, we'll find ourselves running out of food very quickly. And perhaps running out of patience too."


	2. Bad Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Demons run when a good man goes to war._   
>  _Night will fall and drown the sun, when a good man goes to war._   
>  _Friendship dies and true love lies._   
>  _Night will fall and the dark will rise,_   
>  _When a good man goes to war."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> subtle mention of suicide, just a warning (literally like a few words)
> 
> ALSO there's sexy times at the end

The Mayor waited on the table, as he had done every morning, afternoon, and evening for the past 50 or so years. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep doing so. His legs had started to ache a long time ago, and now his back did too. And his head as well, but that came and went, depending on the company in the room. For example, in this instance, he had quite a headache indeed. No one but Holly was eating, and she was eating quickly. She didn't want to be at the table with the other two men. He knew she missed Francesca. Fran had been loud and unabashed and witty to the point of irritation, but she had been a burst of light, worth the burns just to see it. Now she was gone, and it was just darkness. The Mayor observed Tinsley, slumped in his seat, one arm folded and the other half-heartedly toying with the sandwich in front of him. He hadn't been eating properly lately. He'd been drinking more often than not. Ricky eyed him with irritation. 

"You're wasting food."

Tinsley met his gaze, his face stiff. "I don't care."

"If you don't want to eat it, just leave it," said Holly quickly. "It's fine."

Tinsley fixed her with a flat look. Then he picked up his plate and emptied it onto the floor beside him. He let the plate fall after it, his hand staying aside for a few long seconds before he folded his arms again. The Mayor sighed heavily; another mess to clean. Holly was eating faster now. She was a civilian caught between two warring sides. Ricky watched in fuming silence as Tinsley lit a cigarette in replacement of a meal before eventually saying: "You're drunk."

Tinsley shrugged his shoulders with a slow blink. "A little. What's it to you."

"Irritating."

"Bite me."

Holly cleared her throat, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "That was lovely. If you could both clear out now, I have to work."

"The more you drink, the more I'm tempted to dump you back down in that cellar," said Ricky icily, ignoring Holly's words.

"I'm going to drink every damn drop of alcohol in this house before the week is out," replied Tinsley with raised brows. "And then I'll have to get sober. And then you'll like me a hell of a lot less."

"You're throwing a strop like a fucking child."

"You think this is me throwing a strop?" Tinsley leaned forwards, elbows resting on the table. "You haven't seen shit. When I throw a strop, you'll know it."

Ricky glared at him, jaw set. Then he got to his feet, circling the table and taking the other man by the collar in one hand. He jerked him halfway off the seat, glaring at the lopsided smile on his face. He shoved him to the floor, Tinsley landing on his hands and knees with a sharp breath.

"Pick that up," growled Ricky, pointing at the food on the floor. "Now."

"I'll do it, sir." The Mayor paced around the table, and the closer he got to them the hotter the air became. "It's my job, after all."

"Don't touch it," snapped Ricky, throwing a quick scowl at him. He looked back down at Tinsley, who was still on all fours, head hanging and shoulders rising and falling with his heavy breaths. "Clean it, Tinsley. Before I lose my patience."

Tinsley's voice was rough. "And what if I lose _my_ patience, hm?"

"Oh, I'm quaking in my boots."

Tinsley looked over his shoulder at him, their gazes hot enough to cast sparks. He pushed himself to his feet, just a tad unsteady, and he took a step closer to Ricky, so close the shorter man had to tilt his head right back to look him in the eye. Holly rose to her feet, her eyes wide. Then the Mayor sprang to action, scooping the majority of the food up onto the plate that had been dropped with it. He tried a chuckle.

"No use crying over spilled milk, sir."

"I wouldn't have been the one crying," muttered Ricky, searching the taller man's glittering eyes.

Tinsley's jaw clenched a few times. Then he stepped around him, pacing out the door. He heard two sets of footsteps following him as he crossed the hall. He whipped around, furious.

"Stop following me!" he shouted at the two guards, who simply watched him with flat eyes. "Leave me alone for God's sake!"

"Just following orders," said Harrison flatly, his hands in his pockets.

"Can't say no to the boss," added Hale, checking her nails as she spoke.

Tinsley closed his eyes, willing himself to be patient. "I'm going to go upstairs. I'm going to go into the parlour. And I'm going to drink myself stupid. And for the love of all that is good I want to do it _alone_."

"We'll wait outside then," said Hale with a smile. She was a sweet little thing, somehow married to the sourest man alive. "Orders are orders."

Tinsley pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. He was silent for a few minutes before pushing out a "fine".

* * *

The Mayor came to light the fire. He knew Tinsley was in the parlour; Harrison and Hale lingered outside, smoking and murmuring and wandering back and forth. He wasn't too fond of them, and he could tell they weren't too fond of him either. They thought he was too proper, and he thought they were too improper. Harrison gave him a sidelong look as he passed by into the parlour, his eyes sly. They didn't do hellos or goodbyes. The Mayor was fine with this; the less words out of their mouths, the better.

Tinsley was sat on the red couch in the dark, one leg propped on the low table. A glass of whiskey rested in one hand, a cigarette rested between the fingers of the other. He was quiet. He barely moved even as the Mayor drew the curtains closed and lit the oil lamps and started the fire. He sat in the low light, half of his face illuminated. He still didn't look at him. He looked thoroughly miserable. The Mayor stood beside him for a moment, gloved hands fidgeting.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

"Yeah." Tinsley rubbed at his eyes, tired. "You can get me the hell out of here."

"Unfortunately I cannot." The Mayor lowered his gaze as he recounted what had happened in the dining room after Tinsley had left. "Mr Goldsworth let me know very clearly what would happen if I disobeyed him one more time. It wasn't very pleasant, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"Was it not." Tinsley pushed himself to his feet, holding his cigarette between his teeth as he pushed a hand back through his hair. "You're all ridiculous. You're all just out to save your own hides. I'm a hostage here. A _hostage_. And neither you nor Holly are even bothered to help me."

The Mayor pressed his lips in a line. "I'm sorry."

He started for the door, not quite liking the direction Tinsley was rambling in. He heard the footsteps hurry towards him. Tinsley almost pinned him to the wall in his urgency, his words hoarse.

"You have to help me. You have to help me get out of here."

The Mayor avoided his eyes, pressing himself against the wall. "I can't."

"Please. Please, I'm begging you, I-"

"I can't."

"I can't stay here forever." Tinsley's eyes were large and pleading, his voice shaking with each word. "I'll kill myself. I will. You have to help me."

"I _did_ help you," hissed the Mayor, finally looking him in the eye. Tinsley went quiet, his mouth closing. "I helped you. I gave you the opportunity to escape already and you failed to take it. I can't give you another. If Ricky finds out… Well, I may be old but I'm not quite ready to die yet."

Tinsley didn't reply. The look on his face was one of utter betrayal. The Mayor didn't really know why; he'd never been loyal to anyone but the Goldsworths. Tinsley swallowed, turning his head aside. The Mayor left swiftly, closing the door after him. Tinsley stood where he was for a long time. He went to the drinks cabinet and topped up his whiskey and drank it down in one, coughing as it burned his throat. He poured another when he was done. He was halfway through the third when speaking to Holly seemed like a fantastic idea. He found his way to the dining room. She was at the table, with her usual personalia. She looked up when he came in, and her face tautened.

"It's only half six."

He shrugged, plonking himself in the chair beside her. "And?"

"You're drunk."

"Not yet. But I will be." He took another few mouthfuls to emphasize his point, placing the glass down heavily. He wiped a hand down over his mouth, letting it rest there. "Not interested in helping me get out of here, are you? By any chance?"

She shook her head no. She went back to her accounts, dipping her pen in the ink beside her. Tinsley gritted his teeth before saying: "Why not."

"I think you're failing to see something here, detective."

"I'm not a detective," he mumbled. "Not anymore."

She continued. "Your current situation is no one's fault but yours. I warned you countless times. You should've gotten yourself out of this place when you had the chance. But instead you risked your neck in order to bed the one thing you should've been afraid of the most."

He stared at the table for a few minutes. Her pen scratched paper. He swallowed before speaking.

"So you won't help me."

"No." She didn't even look at him. "I already tried. You chose to ignore me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't cry to me about how sorry you are," she said. "I'm not Ricky. I don't take any pleasure in it."

Tinsley turned his glass in slow circles on the table. Then he picked it up and threw his drink over her. She jerked away from the table with a sharp gasp, hands raised. He got to his feet and chucked the glass onto the table and strode towards the door as steadily as he could manage. He turned in the doorway, gripping the frame for balance as he turned to point a vehement finger at her.

"I'll remember this. I'll remember it."

She was on her feet now, plucking at her wet blouse. She looked him over, at the way he clung to the door frame to stay upright. "No you won't. You won't remember anything in the morning."

He tore himself away from the door frame, finding his way to the main door. He grabbed the handle and shook it vigorously, eventually giving up and just slamming his fists against it over and over, as if there was someone on the other side to let him out. He set his elbows against the door, running his hands back through his hair, gripping two fistfuls. When he eventually turned he saw a few faces, the Mayor, a few of the staff. They vanished quickly. He stood in the hall alone.

He went upstairs, into Ricky's room. He poured himself another drink, some of the liquid missing the glass entirely and splashing onto the table. He felt terrible. He felt truly awful. He wanted to feel better, to feel good, even if only for one night. Ricky eventually spoke up from where he stood on the balcony.

"Leave some for me."

Tinsley set the glass down. He tugged his tie off over his head before sitting on the side of the bed. He started getting undressed, refusing to look at the other man. He could see the smug grin that was probably on his face anyway. Ricky wandered into his line of sight, close enough to touch. He brushed his fingers through Tinsley's hair, soft enough to seem truly loving. Tinsley looked up at him with dark eyes. Ricky smiled. He sat across the man's hips in sure movements, settling close, his lowered gaze on Tinsley's mouth. He heard the man exhale sharply through his nose, lips pressed in a hard line.

"You don't want to kiss me?" murmured Ricky, his eyes watching the other man's mouth, and he knew Tinsley was watching his. "Maybe you don't want to do anything to me, hm? Maybe you just want me to do things to you."

Tinsley didn't reply. His hands mapped their way to Ricky's belt, unbuckling it before untucking the man's shirt for him. It was loose enough at the collar that Ricky could just peel it off over his head, feeling Tinsley's hands on him before he'd even gotten it off properly. They trailed down his sides to grip his waist. Tinsley rested his forehead against the man's chest, eyes closed and jaw clenched. Ricky's fingers pushed through his hair.

"Lie back," he said, a smile pulling at his mouth.

Tinsley did so, using his elbows to maneuver his way further onto the bed, Ricky staying over him with a grin. He took hold of Tinsley's wrists and pinned one on top of the other and used the belt from his dressing gown to tie them to the headboard, tight. 

"I knew you'd crumble eventually." He set his elbows either side of Tinsley's head, their faces inches apart. "You always do. You're very weak, you know."

Tinsley's nose wrinkled as he glared at him. "Shut your mouth and just fuck me already."

Ricky's eyebrows raised at this. "Eager."

"Well I'm not here because I enjoy your company, am I." His voice was harsh. "I'm here because you screw like a whore. So just-"

Ricky slapped him, open-handed, snapping his head aside. For a moment Tinsley didn't move, his mouth parted slightly. Then he let out a sharp breath, almost amused. He looked back up at him, one side of his face much paler than the other now.

"That's better."

Ricky narrowed his eyes at him. Then he reached aside to retrieve his satin shirt, not hesitating in ripping the sleeve right off it. He twisted it narrow before tying it as a gag around Tinsley's mouth. Tinsley bit down on it, his fists clenching. Ricky leaned in close.

" _That's_ better."

* * *

Holly read the letter by candlelight, readjusting her glasses on her nose. It was worrying, that was for sure. Movement of heavy vehicles seemingly coming their direction, and none of the other towns appeared to be refusing their access. Something was coming for them. She sipped her gin. The letter she'd received from a family out of town was clearly just sent out of their own honor for themselves; it was too vague to actually be of any help, but at least they could say they tried. It was an action disregarding any consequence. This was the most worrying aspect. Holly rested her head in her hands, sighing heavily.

"I'm too old for this stress."

The Mayor hummed his agreement.

"And when we're gone, I doubt Ricky will have much luck finding replacements."

The Mayor repeated his hum. She looked over her shoulder at him, an eyebrow raised. "Even less talkative than usual, James?"

He twiddled his thumbs. "I have a lot on my conscience right now, ma'am."

"I know. Me too." She folded the letter in half and pinched a thumb and forefinger along it to fix it like so. "Having a conscience is more trouble than it's worth."

"I feel for the detective."

"I know you do. I do too." She began tidying up her things, screwing the lid back on the ink, turning off the flame under the sealing wax. "But he did this to himself. As did we."

"We're different," persisted the Mayor. "We chose to come here. We applied."

"Oh it's not the worst place to be held against your will," said Holly, dusting her hands off as she looked at him over her glasses. "He gets three meals a day, he gets everything handed to him on a platter. If I were him I'd just suck it up. Well I guess that _is_ what I do. And it's what you do too. No reason he can't do it."

"Mr Goldsworth is torturing the man," he said quietly, moving towards her. "We were never treated so harshly."

"And what do you suggest we do about it?" she hissed back. "Do you want to talk to Ricky? Do you? No, I didn't think so. Now I'm going to bed."

"I don't think you will be, ma'am."

"What?" She took a moment to realize what he was implying. Then she closed her eyes, exhaling sharply through her nose. "Do tell me you're joking."

"I'm afraid not."

She paced back and forth for a moment, muttering under her breath. Then she went still. "I suppose I'll have another gin then. For goodness sake."

* * *

Ricky rolled his hips, his hands brushing the covers either side as he did so. He looked down his nose with a cruel smile as Tinsley writhed against the sheets, bound hands twisting and turning, biting on the fabric gag between his teeth as he whimpered his moans. His body was shiny with sweat, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, as he twisted and turned under Ricky. He let out a harsh moan, pushing his head back into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, his body frozen as Ricky pushed up a bit higher, getting a better angle, settling into a quicker pace. He fixed a hand around Tinsley's throat as he leaned forwards. Tinsley's eyes fluttered, but they didn't open. All of a sudden, Ricky slowed, sitting back again, hands pressed to the covers behind as he rode him hard. Tinsley moaned in time with the movements, his fingers searching for anything to grip onto, anything. They found nothing but air. He wasn't sure whether or not Ricky was trying to please him or torture him. He moaned again, muffled. The thoughts passed by.

"Yeah?" Ricky let one hand brush down Tinsley's body; each muscle was trembling. "You like that?"

Tinsley nodded through his panted breaths. Then he shook his head, letting it push back into the pillow again as Ricky pushed his hips in a circle. He groaned, his fists clenched where they were bound. Ricky smiled devilishly, his dark hair sticking to his face with sweat.

"Tell me how much you like it, and maybe I'll let you finish."

Tinsley swallowed around his gag, his face flushed, exhausted. He whined as Ricky upped the pace again.

"Tell me," said Ricky with a sly smile, leaning down towards him. He fixed a hand around his throat again, the skin slick against his palm. "And I'll let you come."

Tinsley bit on the gag hard enough to hurt, his breaths shaking as he looked into those black eyes inches away. He let his eyes flutter closed, bordering on tears as Ricky started at his neck, laying claim to him, biting and sucking and leaving his mark. He writhed fiercely, but each movement sent another wave of unbearable pleasure through him; Ricky was still on him, and he didn't seem to want to get off anytime soon. Tinsley felt the fingers slip behind his gag and pull it down off his mouth.

"Tell me," smiled Ricky, his hands pressing into Tinsley's chest as he used him for leverage, still riding him steadily. "How much do you like it?"

Tinsley swallowed the bitterness in his mouth, breathing heavily. "I hate you."

Ricky bit back his smile, taking him by the jaw in a tight grip, simply because he could. He could see it in the man's eyes; he was telling the truth. He did hate him. Ricky took hold of him by the throat again, letting him struggle for air as he rode him hard, his own head hanging, lips parted as he panted for air. He felt Tinsley's movements grow stiffer under him, saw the man's fingers curl into hard fists, arms shaking with the strain as he tried to pull them free.

"Ah- Aaah- _Aaaah-_ " Tinsley choked out his moans, looking bare minutes from passing out. "F- Fuck, fuck, I- Ricky. Oh God, _Ricky_."

Ricky finished him, hearing the relief in the sound of his moan, watching the euphoria take over his face. He sat where he was for a moment, catching his breath, pushing a hand back through his dark hair. He cupped Tinsley's damp face, turning his head back to face him.

"We're not done."

Tinsley nodded in silence. He watched Ricky untie his hands. Then Ricky moved up along the man's body, one hand pushing through Tinsley's hair to grab a fistful before guiding him forwards. Tinsley pressed soft kisses along the inside of the other man's thigh, his hands brushing around to grab hold of his ass. He took him in his mouth and had him a mess in minutes.

Ricky rolled off him when they were done, flopping onto his back, eyes closed and a blissful smile on his face. He stretched leisurely before rolling onto his side to face Tinsley. The man was still on his back, staring at the ceiling above with heavy eyes. Ricky fetched his dressing robe, wrapping himself in it and tying the belt back around his waist. He swung his legs off the bed and got to his feet, hands pressing into his lower back as he stretched again with a sigh.

"That was nice."

Tinsley's gaze followed him sidelong as the man went to pour himself a drink and light a cigarette. The dark fabric of the robe had slipped off one smooth strong shoulder. Tinsley turned his head to see him more clearly, hands linked behind his head. Ricky climbed back onto the bed, sitting across the other man's hips as casually as he would a chair. His dark hair was damp with sweat, teased into little waves.

"It's not so bad being here, is it?" smiled Ricky, but his eyes still held that dangerous shine. "I'm sure you could get used to this."

"I don't really have a choice, do I." Tinsley's voice was mumbled; he was fighting sleep. "But just to clarify, I'm going to hate myself in the morning."

"That's such a coincidence. I'm going to hate you too." Ricky gave him a light tap on the end of his pointy nose. "But we can get along under the sheets, I'm sure."

Tinsley sat upright, his hands pressed to the covers behind him. "I'm going to sleep in my room."

"Oh come on, Tinman." He let a hand trail down his chest, absent-minded. "Surely it's not all out of your system yet."

Tinsley pushed him off sideways, not even seeing the look of surprise on the man's face as he started getting dressed again. He didn't bother buttoning his shirt; his room was just across the hall, after all. Ricky watched him leave, head inclined and mouth parted slightly. The door shut. Ricky turned his gaze away, taking a mouthful of his drink. Then he lay back on the bed, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter title is from this song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FMemllFAw2o  
> it's a very good song and i associate it with tinsley a lot


	3. Underestimations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> james charles had ruined the word "sisters" for me but i have to use it
> 
> also there is Big Sad at the end and next chapter there is violence and a lot of sex  
> wtf is going ON in HEEEERE

The night was quiet now. The Mayor was putting out the fires in the various rooms, putting out the candles with the douter. He didn't mind being the only one awake. He actually quite liked it; it was calm and peaceful and the manor was still as an oil painting. He meandered along the halls, making it to the main hall. He looked at the painting of Lucy above the fireplace. He smiled. He was glad Mr Goldsworth made such a decision. The painting of Grandfather Goldsworth had been tormenting the Mayor for years. He had killed a Goldsworth. His guilt wore a face. 

The piano crept into the air slowly. He raised his head and listened; it was sat in the parlour, and it sounded just a bit off-key. He expected nothing less. It hadn't been tuned in decades. It hadn't been played in decades. He decided to have a nosey, as was his job.

He poked his head in the door. The fire was still smouldering quietly, the candles were still glowing. He hadn't began shutting the upstairs yet. He stepped further into the room, seeing the piano and its player tucked into the corner.

"I didn't know you could play any instruments, detective."

The keys went silent at his voice. "I'm not a detective." They started up again, melancholic.

The Mayor pressed his lips in a line. "It feels a bit odd to call you anything else."

"That's very sad." He wasn't quite playing the piano anymore. His index finger was resting on a key, pushing it down and down again, not exactly rhythmic. "I don't understand why he won't leave me alone."

The Mayor still lingered halfway in the door, watching Tinsley's back. He couldn't see his face from this angle. "No one understands him, I'm afraid."

"I think fate has just got it in for me." He was still hitting the key slowly. "Everyone in my life has left me no matter how much I wanted them to stay. And the one time I just want someone to leave me, he won't. It's some sick joke. My daughter left me. My wife left me. My parents left me. Although I suppose my dad left me a long time before he actually left. If that makes sense." He still didn't turn, even as he spoke. "I'm named after him, you know. Cedric. That's my middle name. Charles Cedric Tinsley. Very fancy."

The Mayor didn't quite know how to respond. He eyed the half-empty decanter on top of the piano, and the empty glass beside it. "I think you made a wise choice sticking with your last name, detective. It's quite a mouthful."

Tinsley sniffed. Then he looked over his shoulder, showing his reddened eyes. "What's your name?"

The Mayor swallowed. "James."

"James." Tinsley faced away again, fingers resting on the keys. "Suits you."

"...Thank you."

That seemed to be the end of that interaction. Tinsley went back to half-heartedly pressing keys, and the Mayor went back into the  hall and closed the door. He turned his head as a crack of light appeared a few doors up, and a fluffy grey ball squeezed out and pottered towards him. Victoria brushed past his legs and carried on into the night, free from worry. The Mayor looked at the door to Holly's room, seeing her step out, wrapped in her quilted dressing robe. She was moodily adjusting her glasses on her nose.

"Ricky's drunk," she muttered as the Mayor drew closer. "I can hear him through the wall. And bloody hell, James. Do you sleep in that suit?"

"Almost." He eyed the door to Ricky's room. "Do you want me to ask him to quieten down, ma'am?"

"No. No, it's best if I do it." She patted his arm. "You go to bed, okay? You're not twenty anymore."

She continued on down to Ricky's room. She knocked lightly on the door. There was no response. She could almost smell the alcohol from out here. She opened the door, ready to give a scolding. She changed her mind at the sight of Ricky. He was curled up on the armchair beside the balcony, hidden in one of Lucy's old fur coats. His face was visible from the nose up, and a hand was visible holding a glass of wine. Diablo was asleep at the foot of the chair, but he woke as she came closer, eyeing her sidelong. Ricky didn't even blink.

"Oh, Ricky." She gave his hair a soft brush of her hand. His eyes fluttered. "Why are you wearing that?"

His reply was mumbled. "Smells like her."

Holly crouched down beside him, despite her complaining joints. "Sometimes I forget how much you must miss her."

He didn't react for a moment, but the tears welled in his eyes. "I don't know who I am anymore." A choked swallow. "When she died, I died too."

"Ricky, if-"

"Do you really think she'd be disappointed in me?" he asked hoarsely, finally looking her in the eye. "Do you think she'd still love me?"

 _No_ , thought Holly. _I don't think she would_. "I'm sure she would, Ricky."

"I don't think she would," he replied tearfully. "I always wanted to be like her. But I was never like her, I couldn't be. I didn't know how. I still don't. I'm spiteful and I'm cruel and it's too late for me to change."

Holly eyed him worriedly, but she wasn't going to lie. It _was_ too late for him to change. He'd done what he'd done and no amount of apologies would make anyone forgive him. "Why are you thinking like this?"

He blinked a few times at this. "I don't know."

She chewed her lip. Then she said: "Go to bed, and it'll be better in the morning."

He nodded, numb. He got into his bed and under the covers. He left the coat on the chair. Holly said she'd bring Diablo outside for some air. She turned the lamps off as she left. He lay in the dark in the silence. Minutes later the door creaked open, shutting quietly. Footsteps approached the bed. He propped himself on his elbows, watching Tinsley's tall silhouette come closer, pulling his pajama shirt off over his head. Neither of them spoke. Tinsley got on top of him and kissed him, and Ricky kissed him back, hungry, but not loving. He rolled them, pinning Tinsley to the bed, their arms wrapped around each other, fingers digging in. Tinsley didn't leave his bed, not until the morning. He couldn't bear the thought of going back to his room, alone, with just him and his memories. They clutched each other all night, desperate to feel something, like addicts with a rush from a drug.

* * *

The door was knocked upon very early the next morning. Holly raised her head, puzzled as to what would bring a visitor to their door at such a time. She was up, of course. She always woke early. The Mayor woke even earlier. He answered the door; she could hear his voice, and some others answering. His footsteps approached the dining room again, and he poked his head in. He looked concerned.

"It's nuns, ma'am. Three nuns. They're here about the church and its... renovation."

Holly replied flatly. "What renovation. We're not renovating it."

"They're quite insistent on talking, ma'am."

Holly pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a few long seconds to gather some patience. "Fine. Just send them in. Don't offer refreshment. We don't really have much to spare, I'd bet."

She could hear them before she saw them, two voices loud and full of life, but three pairs of footsteps. It was an alien sound in the manor. She placed her pen aside and waited for them to come in. The first one was short and round and wore glasses an inch thick, her skin as black as the habit on her head. Her footsteps were so short and dainty it seemed she rolled on wheels. The second was tall and thin and deathly pale, and had long spidery fingers and a knife of a nose. The last was young and very beautiful and smiled demurely, and she seemed to glow like a saint herself. They wore black habits lined in the traditional white, the robes a clean cream. They sat down erratically, jerking the chairs around for a moment. Holly watched with waning patience, looking at them over her glasses. When they finally sat, the beautiful one spoke first.

" _Bonjour, madame_. My name is Bernadette. These are my sisters, Jude and Maribel."

The tall transparent one was Jude. The short smiling woman was Maribel. She spoke in a bubbly Nigerian accent, and insisted on being called Bel. The tall one barely had a voice; she whispered her words exclusively. Bernadette smiled sweetly. Holly looked each of them in the eye for a moment.

"Welcome to the town. How can I help."

"We heard of a disaster," said Bernadette. She seemed to embrace being the spokeswoman for the trio. "And now we've seen it. What a tragedy at a holy place. Who would have done such a thing?"

"No one did anything," said Holly coolly. "It's exactly what you said it was; a tragedy."

Jude spoke next in her wispy notes. "It's caused quite a stir, you know."

"I'm sure it has." She spread her hands. "But as you can see, I'm a very busy woman. I wish I had time for gossip, but alas, I don't. So if we could hurry to the point... sisters."

"Every town needs a church," smiled Bel; her smile almost touched each ear. "When will it be renovated?"

Holly stared at her, lips pursed. "Renovated."

"Yes, yes. Very important to our Lord."

"We don't share the same Lord, I'm afraid," said Holly dryly, sharing a look with the Mayor. "And I'm sure yours is much more forgiving than ours is. So if that's everything."

"The church must be renovated," said Jude. Her face hardly moved as she spoke. "Without question."

Holly raised her eyebrows at this. "I fail to recognize your authority to decide what will and won't be questioned. The church will not be renovated. That is final. Good day."

She dipped a pen in ink and went back to her accounts. Eventually she looked back up, her gaze heavy.

"You're still here."

"Can we speak to the owner of this manse?" asked Bernadette, all syrupy sweet. "It would-"

"No," said Holly firmly, ducking her head to observe them over her glasses. "Now leave or I'll have you escorted out."

This time they did leave. They rose to their feet and filed out through the hall and out the front door. Only when they had crossed the lawns did they break. 

"Give me a cigarette," said Bernadette, extending a hand to Jude. "I'm fucking dying for one."

"What a stiff bitch," said Jude, handing over her box and taking one out herself. Bel didn't partake. "First time that hasn't worked."

"How far behind is Cosher?"

"Two towns ago he stopped to ask about the Goldsworth boy," said Bel, pulling at her habit. "My, it's hot as hell."

"So a day? Two days?"

"Two days, to be safe," said Jude with a nod. "I doubt we'll make any leeway with the town before then. Especially with that old bat."

"Where are we supposed to stay, sisters? Ask around town?"

"Make a start with the town," said Bel with a nod. "They'll turn to us in time. The Goldsworth family will have no allies. And then Cosher can deal with them as the good Lord sees fit."

* * *

Breakfast was being salvaged in the kitchens by two very hungover men. Tinsley drank glass after glass of water, and Ricky stood at the open side door and smoked a cigarette as he observed the gardens, seeing Diablo's pointed ears skimming above the flowers as he chased some squirrel or shrew or other unfortunate rodent. Ricky eventually turned, facing into the kitchens, watching Tinsley half-heartedly pick at some toast. He felt the bitterness fill him up just at the sight of him. He voiced a thought that had been tormenting him all morning.

"Why did she leave?" he asked, wandering over to pick at some fruit from the basket between them. "Ros.”

Tinsley went still. “How do you know her name?"

Ricky popped a grape into his mouth, chewing it slowly. “You said her name last night. Not for the first time."

Tinsley didn't respond for a moment. "Right."

Another grape. They were a bit sour. “She was your wife.”

Tinsley looked away, his gaze lowering. “I don't really want to-”

“I want to talk about it.” Ricky demanded it. “Do you still love her?”

The reply was sincere. “No.”

“Is she still alive?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?” Ricky's brows drew together. “I don't understand that. How do you not know?”

“...I was married,” said Tinsley in a quiet voice. “And I had a kid. A baby girl. You know that. About- About ten months old.”

Ricky stood in silence. He’d never heard the man’s voice crack so many times in one sentence. “I know."

“And she- Why am I even telling you?” Tinsley finally looked up at him, and in his eyes was the clear need to just tell _someone_. Anyone. Ricky swallowed. The look was painful. “I had a _family_ , Ricky. And they were taken from me before their time. And nothing I’ve done since has been able to fix me back up again. And do you want to know what the worst thing is, Ricky? I can’t even remember what either of them looked like.” He spread his hands, an unusually feeble gesture. “I don’t have any photos. I have nothing. Just the stupid ring. I don't even want it. But it's the only thing left."

He sighed heavily, straightening up somewhat. He went to the drinks. He didn't care that it was barely midday. Really, he was still drunk from the night before. He knew he was. He was spewing his emotions all over the place with no regard for who was listening. He didn't care anymore. He made two drinks, one with ice. He gave the iced one to Ricky, who accepted it without acknowledging it. Tinsley lit a cigarette, his gaze distant, pensive. For a few minutes he just smoked.

“We met when we were young. Stupid and young. Seventeen, eighteen. We were married by twenty-three.” He cleared his throat, nursing his drink for a minute or two. “It was fine. It was good at the start. We, uh, we had some trouble… conceiving. A few miscarriages. She blamed herself. I blamed myself. My dad blamed me too. Said it was my 'unnatural tendencies’. For a while I thought he was right.” He ran his tongue over his lips, looking away. “After a while she started blaming me too. All her friends were having children, I think it was starting to make her self-conscious. I don't know. Maybe it was all my fault. No one else had any issues. I don't know.”

Ricky watched him closely, almost suspiciously. "Alright."

“It was... hard. It was. I felt a bit useless. But she went to the doctor one day because she felt nauseous, and surprise. She was pregnant, and it was the longest she'd stayed pregnant for. And just like that, she loved me again." He bit on his bottom lip for a few seconds. "I suppose that was a warning sign in itself.”

Ricky felt it inside him; the cold anger, the hate he always seemed to be able to feel for people he'd never even met. He took a mouthful of his drink.

“She had Ellie. And she was healthy.” Tinsley chewed on his lip, his eyes watery but happy. “And she was a little angel. She had her mom's hair; red. Little red curls. And just like that, everything seemed to be going great again. She'd have her dinner and we'd put her to bed and she'd wake up early in the morning, three or four, and cry for food. The usual. But one morning she didn't cry.” He went quiet for a long while then, his throat working. His gaze was unblinking. Eventually he started again. “I remember waking up and seeing the time, half seven on the dot. I knew straight away something was wrong. I didn't wake Roslyn, but she woke anyway. I went into Ellie's room and I- I picked her up and-” He hid his eyes behind his hand, his shoulders hunched. “She was cold. So cold. I don't know what I did then. I don't remember anything. I think I passed out, I must've. And when I woke up she was gone, it was all over. Just like that.”

Ricky looked him up and down. "Why did she die?"

“They never found out why. It was ‘just one of those things’.” He sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. “Me and Ros didn't last much longer after that. I drank a lot. I had a breakdown in work, I got fired. It was just went to pieces. And one night she left me.” He closed his eyes, the tears squeezing out. “She didn't say goodbye. I woke up and all her stuff was gone and I was alone. I never heard from her again.” Another sniff, his head turning away. “So yeah. Everyone left me in the end. And now here I am.”

Ricky chewed his snack in silence, looking a bit thoughtful. Then he picked up his drink and took a mouthful before saying: "I expected something worse. But alright."

Tinsley fixed him with an unblinking stare. Ricky didn't even notice. He just took his drink and strolled out of the room like he'd been told a vaguely interesting fairytale. Tinsley continued staring at the empty doorway, his vision blurring, reddening. He only closed his eyes when he downed his drink in one, turning and leaning on the counter as he breathed heavily. His heart was pounding in his chest, blood racing through his veins. He stared at the knives on the wall. He slipped his fingers around the handle of the nearest one, pulling it from the others. It felt good in his hand, comfortable. He looked at it for a moment, at the gleam, the razor edge, the needle-sharp tip. No one would free him, he knew that now. But he could free himself. He didn't know how he hadn't seen it before. He supposed he'd been blinded by Ricky's erratic flashes of sweetness. Tinsley left the kitchens and strode down the hall. The Mayor saw him pass, saw the knife in his hand. He turned a blind eye. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a short one but shit kicks off next chapter fellas


	4. Pyrrhic Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Pyrrhic victory - a victory that inflicts such a devastating toll on the victor that it is tantamount to defeat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as expected, pretty violent, and also a pretty graphic sex scene too. they have sex a lot for this chapter and the next, but like... suck it up ebcause that's basically it then lmao
> 
> idk if it could be a bad thing or not for some people but there's like.... facefucking???? soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo yea enjoy

Tinsley stopped outside Ricky's bedroom door, resting a hand on it. His other hand was still around the knife handle, but to his surprise it wasn't slick with sweat. He was calm. He was unusually calm. He let his hand brush down the door to the handle and push it open. Ricky was in his room. He blew cigarette smoke out of his mouth in an impatient sigh at the sight of Tinsley.

"What? What do you want?"

The detective stood in the doorway, his grip tightening and loosening and tightening again on the handle of the knife behind his leg. His mind was a blur, static. He didn't blink as he looked at Ricky perched on the balustrade, all handsome and pretty and much too alive for his liking. Tinsley closed the door over behind him. Ricky tossed his cigarette butt over the balcony.

"What the hell are you doing?" Ricky let himself drop back onto the floor, rolling his sleeves more firmly around his elbows as he eyed him. He went still. "What's in your hand?"

Tinsley moved towards him slowly at first, but by the third step he didn't care whether or not the knife was seen. Ricky's eyes widened in alarm as Tinsley came closer with eyes glittering furiously. He backed away, hitting against the dresser, the contents rattling. He ducked aside, arms raised to protect his head. The blade slid across the side of his forearm, opening a gash almost to his elbow. He barely felt it. He was too busy trying to control his terror as he felt Tinsley's hand fix around his throat, dragging him back around. He stumbled and tried to call for help, his head hitting back off the wall when Tinsley shoved him back against it. The man was strong, more than a match, and his grip was crushing as Ricky clawed at it.

Ricky lashed out in time to stop the knife, his fingers fixing around Tinsley's wrist, his arm trembling with the strain of keeping the blade from his neck. Tinsley's face was inches from his, his wild eyes fixed on Ricky's. He was snarling like a dog. A dog. Ricky tried to shout.

"Diablo! Di-"

He choked on his words as Tinsley's palm pressed harder against his throat. His gritted his own teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously. He lashed out with his free hand, raking his fingers across Tinsley's face, leaving red scratches on his skin, forcing a curse from the man's mouth. Tinsley fell against him, his wrist still firm in Ricky's grip, the knife still gleaming in the air above them. He caught hold of Ricky's free hand, driving it back against the wall. Ricky struggled furiously, biting down on the side of Tinsley's neck hard enough to make the man yelp and jerk away. Ricky swiftly followed, his vision red. He punched Tinsley hard across the face, catching him with a swift hook to the stomach after, sending the man staggering back against the bedpost, doubled over. The knife clattered to the floor. Ricky didn't care. He preferred to use his hands.

"You son of a fucking bitch." He grabbed a fistful of Tinsley's hair, dragging him away from the bedpost, ignoring the muttered curses. "You'll pay for that, I swear to God."

Tinsley didn't cower. He caught his breath and threw himself at Ricky again like a wild animal. They tumbled to the floor, locked together, spitting and clawing. Ricky was uncontrollable. He was all over him in the worst of ways, sinking his teeth in, dragging his fingers across his skin, drawing blood in whatever way possible. He felt a thrill go through him as Tinsley fought back with just as much animal instinct, his punches unrelenting even as his arms came back covered in more and more cuts each time. Ricky pinned him down, but only for bare seconds before Tinsley grabbed hold of him by the jaw and shoved him off sideways and rolled on top, pinning his hands to the floor either side of his head. Ricky lay on his back, panting for breath, black eyes already starting to form either side of his bloodied nose. Tinsley stayed over him, his face stinging with the scratches, his mouth dripping blood onto the floor beside Ricky's head. For a few moments there was no sound but for their heavy breaths, out of time with each other. Ricky smiled through the blood on his face, breathless. He spoke in awe.

"Where in hell have you been hiding that."

Tinsley swallowed, tasting the coppery blood. He placed a shaky hand around Ricky's throat, but he couldn't grip it. He couldn't kill him, even as the sly smile spread across Ricky's face. He couldn't kill him. The blinding anger had passed. For now, it was just the usual anger. He fixed his gaze on Ricky's; the man still seemed somewhat awestruck, breathless. Deeply, deeply in love.

Tinsley fell into the kiss, starting rough and getting rougher. He savaged the man under him, their bloodied mouths working against each other, Ricky already moaning with each trembling breath. The man's hair was dark and damp with sweat as Tinsley pushed a hand through it, gripping a fistful. He felt Ricky's hands push under his shirt, clinging onto him. Tinsley grabbed hold of his shirt, tore it open, getting absolutely no resistance, Ricky's dreamy gaze fixed on his face. Just like the first time. Tinsley grabbed him by the jaw, seeing the man's dark eyes flutter like he'd just been subjected to the most gentle touch. Tinsley looked him over, his gaze trailing up and down his face. He leaned in, biting down hard on his bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. He heard Ricky whimper, painfully desperate, felt the fingers grip his shoulders. The man's arm was still bleeding freely, dripping off his elbow. Tinsley didn't care.  He basically dragged him to the bed, tearing the man's clothes off, pulling his own shirt off over his head. He felt Ricky's mouth on his body, hands gripping his sides, teeth closing on his chest. Tinsley couldn't wait any longer. He shoved Ricky back on the bed and he climbed on top and he ran savage kisses down his body, his teeth grazing his skin, and he took him in his mouth. Ricky let out a harsh breath, pushing his head back into the pillow, hooking his legs over the other man's shoulders, grabbing hold of the headboard behind him. One of Tinsley's hands dug into his thigh, the other ran over his body, fingers dragging down his stomach. Tinsley rolled onto his back, pulling Ricky over on top so that the man was straddling his face.

Ricky's hand grabbed hold of the rocking headboard, his other hand tangled in Tinsley's hair down between his legs. His fingers slipped off the wrought iron; it was moving too much, he couldn't grip it properly. He buried his face in the pillow, he was almost screaming with pleasure, rutting his hips into the other man like he was a toy. His fingers tightened in Tinsley's hair, he felt the man's hands dig into his thighs where they held on for dear life. He spared a glance over his shoulder; Tinsley was still under him, gripping his thighs, face between his legs. He hadn't managed to get out of his trousers, but his torso was visible, slick with sweat, taut as he battled to keep Ricky in place. His back rose off the bed with each thrust as he hung onto Ricky's thighs, refusing to give in. Ricky bit down on the headboard, his moans hard and loud as Tinsley's mouth worked magic, as it had him begging for the end, to just let it end. Ricky dropped to the bed again, biting down on the pillow in an effort to stifle his screams, both hands tangling in Tinsley's hair. He worked him like a doll, desperate to finish, Tinsley's hands clawing into his thighs, leaving marks.

"Please! Oh fuck, please!" Ricky was bordering on tears, his eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling. "Please, Tinsley, please let me come. Just fucking-  _Please!"_

Tinsley ignored him. He forced him to continue writhing and begging and pleading, the entire bed rocking with the vicious momentum of his rutting hips. Ricky tried to pull away; Tinsley's fingers dug into his skin to keep him in place, feeling Ricky's grip tighten on his hair. Ricky panted for air, his moans shaking, biting down on the pillow hard enough to hurt. He pushed up on his knees, pulling Tinsley with him, his head tilted back and eyes fluttering as he teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain.

"Tinsley please,  _please_." He dissolved into panted moans, feeling faint. "I- I can't- I can't do this, I-"

Tinsley finally finished him. Ricky's moan was delicious, exhausted, his grip white-knuckled on the headboard as he fell forwards. Tinsley swallowed messily, rolling out from under him. The other man collapsed on the covers, the bed shaking with his panted breaths. Tinsley wiped at his watery eyes, running a hand down his sweaty face as he sat on the edge of the bed. He spared a glance over his shoulder. It was a sight he'd never seen; a truly worn-out Ricky. The man's reddened face was pressed into the pillow, his eyes closed, mouth open as he panted for air. His dark hair was stuck to his face. Tinsley took a moment to feel just a bit proud. Then he pushed himself to his feet, going to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, and locked it. He ran a bath, as hot as he could bear. He stared at himself in the mirror for a while.

Eventually, he got into the water. He cleaned the blood and sweat off him, and the entire time he didn't feel a single thing, not even the scratches stinging on his face, on his neck, his arms. He washed his hair. He got out and he wrapped himself in a towel and rinsed his mouth out and washed his face. He didn't shave. Ricky didn't like the beard. When he went back into the bedroom Ricky was fast asleep, his shirt stuck to him with sweat, his face flushed, his eyes bruised, and he still looked terribly, terribly beautiful. Tinsley started getting dressed again, quietly, buckling his belt as he moved towards the bed. He picked the knife up off the floor as he went, holding it loosely. He sat on the side of the bed, looking down at Ricky's sleeping face from under heavy lids. He let his free hand drift out, cupping Ricky's face softly, so softly, brushing a thumb across his parted lips, the bottom one of which was still dotted with blood.

Tinsley tapped the blade of the knife against his leg pensively. Then he got to his feet and placed the knife on the bedside table. He finished getting dressed and left.

* * *

Breakfast was quiet. Ricky ate slowly, his lowered gaze resting on the half-empty glass of water in front of him. He could see Tinsley's hands, his marked forearms, and that was all. He heard Holly clear her throat in the silence. He could almost feel her gaze flickering between the two men, puzzled as to their silence, as to the scratches on one's face and the bruises on the other's. But how could Ricky possibly explain it to her? He'd never been fucked like that in his life. His heart was still racing from the experience. He chewed his food slowly. He drank slowly. He moved slowly. He watched Tinsley's hands; they barely touched his plate. They just went for his glass again and again. Ricky risked a glance at his face; the man's eyes were lowered too, looking down his pointed nose at his food. His face was still stiff, harder than it used to be. His jaw seemed to constantly be clenched, his brows always drawn together in a glare. There were unmistakable lines across his right cheek, trailing down his neck. Perhaps they were from Ricky's anger. Perhaps they were from his pleasure. Neither knew. Ricky took a mouthful of his water, pausing as Tinsley's eyes met his across the table. They both went still. Ricky looked away first, swallowing his drink. Holly finally spoke.

"We'll be out of wine soon," she said, an attempt to poke some conversation into life.

She didn't get a response at all. She watched Tinsley sit back in his chair, his wrist resting on the edge of the table, fingers gripping his drink. He didn't take his eyes from Ricky's face. Ricky propped an elbow on the table, rubbing at the back of his neck, his hand brushing around to hold his own jaw, his gaze lowered. He seemed to be squirming in his seat, his free hand clamped between his legs. There were stitches along the side of his arm. Holly spared a slow glance over her shoulder; the Mayor's cool eyes flickered to meet hers. She realized she wasn't breathing quite properly. She looked at her plate. She looked at Ricky and Tinsley, the table the only thing keeping them from each other. Tinsley distractedly picked up his fork, which had been untouched so far. He let it tap against the table. It was the only sound in the room. Holly took hold of her plate, getting to her feet.

"It's a nice day," she stated. "I'm going to eat outside. Mayor, will you accompany me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The door was shut firmly behind them. Tinsley let the fork hit against the table again, rhythmic, tap tap tapping. Ricky didn't take his eyes from it, still unsettled in his seat, rubbing at his neck. He couldn't even begin to think of something to say; he could barely breathe as it was. He kept his head ducked, looking at the other man with just his eyes. Tinsley was looking right back in unyielding dislike. The fork tapped and tapped against the table. Ricky took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly. He got to his feet, his fists clenched by his sides. Tinsley watched, letting the fork stop tapping. He laid it back down. He lit a lazy cigarette, waving the match out slowly. He let Ricky stew. He wasn't going to speak first. He refused to. Ricky leaned forwards on the table, hands pressed to the surface as he let his head hang. He took a few steadying breaths. Then he shoved the contents of the table aside as he crawled over to Tinsley, straddling him in his chair, settling close, their mouths hovering bare inches apart. Ricky closed his eyes as he felt the hand unbutton his trousers before it slipped in. Tinsley's other hand brought his cigarette to his mouth as Ricky wrapped around him, face buried in his shoulder, breathless already. The sound was sweet.

"You like that?"

Ricky nodded against his neck, a hand curling in the man's thick hair.

Tinsley muttered the words into his ear. "Get up and take off your clothes."

Ricky got to his feet, unbuttoning his shirt with fervour as Tinsley checked the doors were locked. He got out of his trousers, and Tinsley casually took hold of him by the throat, pushing him back against the table, hard enough so that Ricky had no choice but to lie back on it. Tinsley stubbed his cigarette out on a plate, still holding Ricky down by his throat. He looked down at the dreamy look on the man's face, the infatuation like a disease. He pulled his tie off over his head, tossing it aside. He leaned down and spread kisses all over his skin, moving ever downwards, letting Ricky hook his legs over his shoulders once he got low enough. He felt the hands tangle in his hair again, where'd they had been hours beforehand. He wanted to hear Ricky begging again, pleading. He wanted to hear it, so he did. He liked to imagine the man was begging for his life. Maybe one day soon he would be. The idea turned him on more than anything else Ricky could do.

* * *

The Mayor lifted his head at the sound of crackling tires. Holly spared him a glance. He shook his head; no, they weren't expecting visitors. Holly got to her feet, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

"Keep them out of the dining room," she said, as she followed the Mayor away from the table under the trellis and around the side of the manor. "No one wants to see those two fools massacring each other this early in the day."

The Mayor saw the van; a shined green. "It's the grocer, ma'am."

She frowned. "Oh?"

The grocer was lifting a wooden tray from the back of the van. It was laden with fruit and veg, and it all looked fresh. He was smiling, his little eyes gleaming through his bushy brows and bushy stache and bushy beard.

"Morning, folks! Got a delivery real early."

"What?" Holly let the Mayor head back into the manor to get some staff. "Why? How?"

"Them nuns, miss." He set the first tray down at the side of the nearest wall, heading back towards the van. "They're causing a bit of a fuss, they are. Calling the suppliers and preaching the word of the Lord. Convincing them not to let us good worshippers starve."

Holly listened with eyes growing ever narrower. "I see. I wasn't aware there were so many worshippers in the town."

"Oh, a few. But we pretend when we have to."

Holly watched him placing another tray down. "And the town likes these nuns, do they?"

"Oh yes, without a doubt."

 _More than they like Ricky_. "Well, I see." She paused, lips pursed. She turned on her heels and went back inside, throwing a dry ' _peace be with you'_ over her shoulder. She went into the dining room and dialed the local bed and breakfast, the only one in the town. Yes, the nuns were there. Yes, one would speak with her. By the accent, it was Bel.

"Good morning, Miss Holly. Blessed day."

"I'm sure it is. I just want to... extend my gratification for opening up the supply lines again. Much appreciated."

"Not me, it was the good Lord."

Holly closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. "Well that's great. But as a matter of interest, how did you hear about this town?"

A skipped beat. Just a single one. "A good friend, Miss Holly. Out of town."

"I'd really appreciate a name," said Holly with a smile in her voice, although none was on her face. "Just so I can thank them for their assistance."

A pause. "You'll meet him soon enough, Miss Holly. You can thank him all you want then."

The phone was hung up. Holly slowly put it back on the hook, her gaze distant. So what was coming for them was a man, and the nuns were his vanguard. Perhaps it was another priest. Ricky would probably deal with this one as he had all the others. It was nothing to worry about, she convinced herself. It wouldn't go far. And if it did, she'd just set Ricky free and let him tear them apart. She went to help the Mayor with the fresh food.


	5. Chief Cosher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's sexy times in the first part but surprisingly there's no violence!! me? writing a chapter with no violence? astounding

There wasn't a single light in the room. It was in pitch darkness, the light curtains drifting like ghosts in the warm breeze. It was better dark. They didn't have to see each other. They mapped each other out through touch, their mouths working against each other, heavy breaths the only sound in the world. Ricky guided the other man's hand around to his ass, feeling Tinsley immediately take the hint, gripping it harshly, pulling Ricky more firmly against him. They were wrapped around each other, one shape in the dark, grinding and writhing and working each other into a frenzy. Tinsley lost himself in the feeling of the other man's lean body in his hands, pressed into him, their ribs sliding against each other as they panted for air. He could do this forever, he thought to himself. But somehow he knew this was hell. Ricky's tongue had barely left his mouth all night, kissing him with a hot anger, his leg hooking over Tinsley's hip, and he moaned into the other man's mouth as he felt Tinsley's hand slip down between his legs. He pushed into the hand, grinding his hips, his head dropping against the pillow as the pleasure engulfed him. Tinsley buried his face in his shoulder, biting him hard, hard enough to hurt. Ricky's arm fixed tight around his neck, and he could ignore the pain as long as the pleasure was still coming too.

He let himself be turned the opposite way, feeling Tinsley press close behind him. Ricky let the other man have him entirely. He didn't fight as Tinsley took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head aside so he could slip an arm under and around his neck, tight enough to hinder his breath. Ricky's back arched as he was pulled back against the other man, his fingers curling over the forearm pressed against his neck as he moaned incessantly, the sound jumping with each rut. Tinsley's free hand ran down over the man's hard stomach, fingers clawing in as if he wanted to gut him on the spot.

Ricky reached a hand behind him to tangle it in the other man's hair, but he didn't quite manage to before he felt the fingers catch hold of his wrist, tight. Tinsley turned him onto his front, pinning his wrist to his back, forcing the other one on top of it with just a bit of resistance. Tinsley continued fucking him with little finesse, but it seemed the other man was adoring it, breathless, eyes fluttering. Tinsley took his belt from his trousers, wrapping it a few times around Ricky's wrists before buckling it. He saw the smile flit across Ricky's flushed face where it was pressed against the pillow. Tinsley leaned down to speak into his ear.

"Get on top."

Ricky did so, sitting across Tinsley's hips, his hands bound behind his back, leaving his body open to be ravished by Tinsley's eyes as the man lit a cigarette. Ricky rode him slow, his head tilting back with the bliss, lips parted. Tinsley rested his head back against the pillow, one hand managing his cigarette, the other on Ricky's hip. He kept his own moans contained, feeling them catch in his throat. They tasted bitter. His eyes drifted to the flash of metal out of the corner of his eye. The knife still lay on the bedside table, gleaming white in the dark. He let his head tilt aside, staring at it. His hand brushed along Ricky's body, feeling the soft damp skin, feeling the shifting muscles under it. He took a drag on his cigarette; the knife stayed sharp through the smoke.

"Fuck," breathed Ricky, his head tilted back, throat bared. " _Fuck_."

Tinsley didn't take his eyes from the knife, even as another moan tried to force its way out of his mouth. He gritted his teeth, his free hand reaching around to grab hold of the belt that bound Ricky's wrists, just to keep it occupied. His fingers curled around the leather, imagining a knife handle instead. Ricky was still riding him slow, just his hips rolling smooth, like it was more of a relaxing hobby than anything else. Perhaps it was. Tinsley could see his silhouette, half moonlight half shadow, his head tilting aside like he was in some sort of trance. Tinsley looked at him, and he could see the gleam of his eyes as he looked back. Ricky's head tilted just a bit further. Patronising. He knew. He knew that the knife, the means to an end, lay just bare inches away. He also knew that Tinsley wouldn't do it. He said the word softly.

"Coward."

Tinsley sat upright, their faces inches apart. A smirk drifted across Ricky's face. Tinsley flicked his cigarette aside, grabbing a hold of him by the jaw hard enough to hurt, forcing the beginnings of a snarl onto Ricky's face. Then he rolled them, one arm hooking around Ricky's waist to keep his hips on his, the other hand pinning him against the bed by his throat. He wanted to hear him scream, in any way possible. He fucked him until he did.

Afterwards they fell asleep in seconds, snoring quietly. It was peaceful. Neither of them would ever know.

The morning passed and they woke in the afternoon. Ricky hurt all over. He attempted a stretch; he couldn't quite make a full one. Tinsley sat upright beside him, burying his face in his hands and rubbing at his tired eyes. He looked down at Ricky beside him, at the bloodthirsty eyes in such a sweet face. Ricky stretched again, further this time, gripping the headboard above him with a cocky smile.

"Morning."

Just like that, Tinsley was furious again. Every time he heard that voice he just wanted to hear it scream. He rolled on top of him, and he didn't hesitate in travelling south, running the kisses down the centre of Ricky's stomach, grabbing hold of his hips to keep him pinned down. He started on him, breaking away when he heard Ricky's voice muffled by a pillow he was clamping over his face. Tinsley took the pillow away. He forced the man's hands through the wrought iron of the headboard before binding them with his belt again. He needed to hear him. He needed to. He took him in his mouth and he made him writhe and twist and Ricky swiftly broke and screamed with pleasure, legs hooked over Tinsley's shoulders, his back rising off the bed. It went on for a long while, too long. Ricky was sweating and shaking and pulling at his bindings with weak arms, begging for it to end. Tinsley didn't end it. It would end when he wanted it to end.

* * *

Breakfast was quiet. Ricky had just about managed to get dressed. He sat in his half-buttoned black shirt with his sleeves pulled up just above his elbows so that his stitches wouldn't be agitated. He hadn't brushed his hair and he hadn't shaved and he looked at his plate with eyes brimming with exhaustion. Tinsley ate in silence, casual, a hand lazily drifting through the pages of the book beside his plate. The Mayor offered Ricky more coffee. Ricky accepted. He looked at Tinsley over the rim of his cup, eyes narrowing somewhat. Tinsley eventually lifted his head to meet his gaze.

“Stop staring at me,” he said, icy. “It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Ricky sniffed, putting his cup down. "Good. I'm worried you're getting a bit self-important."

Tinsley continued reading, speaking through his mouthful of toast. "And why's that."

"Your attitude."

"My attitude." Tinsley looked at him again, not bothering to raise his head fully. "It's almost as if you're holding me against my will here and that I don't actually like you in any way, shape, or form, and I'm only having sex with you to pass the time. Who would've thought."

Ricky gritted his teeth as the other man went back to his book. "Don't be mistaken, Tinsley. You're on thin ice. Very fucking thin."

"Good thing I know how to swim, hm?"

"You're not funny."

"What are you throwing a hissy fit for?" asked Tinsley distractedly, still not looking at him. "Is it because I got you off three times last night and you didn't even manage to get me off once? Hope it didn't knock your self-confidence in the sack."

The Mayor's face stiffened, his lips pursed. He wished Holly was here, just so she could excuse him. He'd never seen Ricky's flush so furiously in his life.

"I mean, _I_ should be the one complaining," continued Tinsley, a hand resting between the pages of his book to keep his place marked. "I'm unsatisfied in bed, Ricky. I never thought I'd be saying such a thing."

Ricky looked genuinely embarrassed; he was trying to his glare, but his eyes were just a bit too wide to make him look truly angry. "You- You-"

"I- I what, Ricky?" He inclined his head expectantly. "Maybe my attitude is the way it is because you ride me like you're trying to scooch in a chair."

The Mayor's mouth stretched downwards in an attempt to stop himself from spluttering a laugh, his eyes wide in shock. Ricky was staring at the centre of the table in stunned silence, mouth parted. Tinsley went back to his book with an arched eyebrow, picking at his food again. Ricky sat in fuming silence. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, slamming it onto the table as he got to his feet. He barked at the Mayor to get out. The Mayor gratefully did so. Ricky strode around the table with purpose, grabbing hold of Tinsley by the collar and hauling him off his seat before shoving him with enough force for the man to land flat on his back on the ground. Ricky immediately straddled him, pulling the man's belt open, unbuttoning his trousers. Tinsley went to prop himself on his elbows, not quite managing to before Ricky grabbed him by the throat and pinned him back down. Ricky sat back, pulling his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside. He was about to make the other man swallow his words.

* * *

The Mayor heard the car crackle into the driveway. He peered out the window beside the main door, his brows furrowing at the unfamiliar vehicle. A man stepped out, not much shorter than the Mayor himself but still somehow bigger, with large hands and a wide jaw. He had salt and pepper hair and bushy brows and a red tie that matched the red suspenders over his thick shoulders. Two other men stepped out of the vehicle too; uniformed. Cops, with long coats and emblems on their hats. The Mayor let the curtain fall back into place, his face blank. He quickly rang the bell for Holly's room.

Their was a firm few knocks on the door. The Mayor smoothed down his waistcoat and adopted his usual passive expression and opened the door.

"Gentlemen."

The man at the front looked him over. "This is Goldsworth manor?"

"Yes, sir. How can I help."

"I wanna have a word with the boy."

The Mayor attempted a smile. "There is no boy here, I'm afraid. There's Mr Goldsworth, the head of the household."

"Cut the formalities, bub. I wanna talk to him."

"My job revolves around formalities, I'm afraid," said the Mayor with patience. "If I could have your name, I'll see if he's available."

"Cosher. Chief." He showed his badge in all its burnished glory. "These are some of my squad, Officers Bernie and Oswell. That enough for ya?"

The Mayor observed him in silence for a minute. The man had cruel hard eyes, frosty. He had a gun on one hip and a truncheon on the other, and a little pouch for a pair of cuffs. The other two cops looked like twins under their helmets, and they each were carrying cuffs and truncheons too. They'd come armed. The Mayor looked back at the chief.

"If you'd give me a moment."

"Make it a quick moment, yeah?"

The Mayor closed over the door. He could hear Holly's sensible heels hurrying down the stairs. They met midway across the hall, looking equally concerned. She spoke quietly.

"Armed?"

"Yes, ma'am. All three."

"Official?"

"The badges look official, yes. They also each have handcuffs."

Holly pressed her lips together in a worried line. "I see. Well there's no point in trying to kid ourselves; this is going to escalate. Let's just try and escalate it very, very slowly. Where's Ricky and Tinsley?"

"The dining room, ma'am."

"Get them. Tidy them up."

She went to the door. She hadn't quite reached it when it was pushed open, and in came the chief, bright eyed and hungry. 

"I said a quick moment, and I mean what I say."

Holly stared at him, at the two cops either side of him. "Excuse me, you're meant to wait."

"I'm meant to do a lot of things I don't do, missus." He glanced at her hands. "Or miss. Doesn't matter. Where's the boy."

"Mr Goldsworth-" She emphasized the name. "-is occupied as of now. So you will wait."

"I'll un-occupy him," he said, brushing past her and further into the hall. "Nice place. Very royal altogether."

"It's an ancestral home."

"Mm. Never quite liked the idea of inheritance. Bit unfair on the rest of the world, isn't it."

The dining room door opened. The chief observed the three men that came out. One was the wooden butler. The other two looked as if they had been in a terrible fight. The short one was tucking his black shirt into his black trousers. His hair was black, his eyes were black, and his skin was a smooth olive tone. This was the dangerous one, that was clear. The other man was taller and thinner with pale skin that was darker under his eyes, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep even once in his life. They both seemed somewhat out of breath, and the taller one's thick hair was dampened with sweat. Cosher arched an eyebrow. The woman with pale gray hair and a hard mouth was glaring at him.

“I’m here to have words,” said Cosher, unwrapping a cigar as he spoke. “With all of you. Separately.”

Tinsley let his gaze drift sidelong to Ricky, who was openly unimpressed. Holly traded a look with the Mayor, raising an eyebrow. The silence lingered.

“On what grounds?” said Holly coolly, smoothing down her blouse.

“The arson attack on the church,” he replied bluntly. “I thought that went without saying, but I said it.”

“It wasn’t arson,” said Ricky dismissively, trailing his fingers down the stitches on his arm. “It was a tragic accident.”

“I’ll decide that,” said the chief, his cold eyes on Ricky. He moved towards him, unblinking. “You’re the boss, are you?”

Ricky flicked open his tin of cigarette with a languid hand, giving the chief a once-over as he did so. “Good guess.”

“And you’re the butler,” said Cosher, looking at the Mayor. He looked at Holly. “And you’re the accountant.”

They waited for him to continue. He eventually turned his hard gaze to Tinsley and said: “But what are you?”

Tinsley stayed by himself, watching him with quiet eyes. He avoided looking at Ricky. “...A guest.”

“A guest? Are you all pals, huh?”

Tinsley shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “Sometimes.”

"Sometimes. Intriguing." Cosher inclined his head. "You like it here?"

"What's not to like?" said Ricky, answering for the other man. He lit his cigarette behind a cupped hand.

Cosher observed him closely. "You're a pretty one, aren't you? I don't like pretties. They have too much going for them in the world."

Ricky gave a dry laugh. "Sure. My life's been a smooth ride."

"Oh yeah?" Cosher gave them each a sweeping glance. "Maybe you could all tell me your stories in detail. In great detail."

* * *

The first one was the butler. He sat straight and still and his face was impenetrable and his eyes were a calm blue. Cosher puffed at his cigar.

"You smoke?"

"No, sir. I find the stench quite unbearable."

"That's fair. What's your name?"

"You can call me James, if you'd like. I'm mostly called by a traditional name-"

"James it is." Cosher looked him over; he was neat to the point of disbelief. "How long you been working here, James?"

"Fifty years, sir."

"Long time."

"Yes."

Cosher looked him over again. The man exuded no singular emotion. He was just calm and cool and he blended into the furniture like he belonged there. Cosher didn't like him. He didn't like people whose armour he couldn't find a chink in. He blew a mouthful of grey smoke at the man. The Mayor softly raised a white gloved hand and brushed it away. The hand receded under the table again.

"And you cook for them and clean for them and drive them wherever they want?"

The Mayor thought about it. "No. I overlook the cooking and I overlook the cleaning. I do drive them."

"You've always driven them?"

The Mayor skipped over the memories of their last chauffeur. "Yes."

"Where were you when the church was lit up, James?"

The Mayor didn't pretend to think about it. "In the kitchens."

"Not in the car?"

"No."

"And why not? Mr Goldsworth was the groom, after all. I'm sure you had to drive him."

The Mayor stared at him for a long while, unblinking. "We were running late."

"Bit odd that the groom wasn't there before the bride."

Cosher watched his face for a reaction. There wasn't one, not even a flicker. The man was a damn statue.

"The bride, a Miss Delaney, informed me that everyone was in the church for approximately half an hour, waiting for the handsome groom." Cosher raised a bushy brow. "Why was he so late?"

The Mayor inclined his head, putting two and two together. Darla and Fran had recruited this chief and sent him here to rip them all out root and stem. He couldn't quite blame them. Not now. He didn't take his cool eyes off Cosher's.

"An unfortunate accident. The car had run out of oil."

"Right." Cosher tapped the thick ash off the end of his cigar, right onto the table. He saw the flicker of a raised eyebrow on the other man's face. "Lots of unfortunate accidents happen around here, do they?"

The Mayor gave him a rare smile, a soft upturn of the corners of his mouth. "More and more everyday, sir."

* * *

The next was the woman. She sat stiffly with her fingers interlaced on the table between them. A silver ring shone on her pinky finger. That was as far as she went with jewelry, it seemed. Her eyes were slatey and cold and she didn't care to hide this fact. Cosher was still on the same cigar. She put out a hand and tapped a finger beside the ashtray.

"Out," she said firmly. "I don't like my office to stink of sour smoke. Put it out."

"Alright, lady. Relax."

He reluctantly put it out, but he smiled at her. She scowled back.

"Miss Holly Horsley, is it?"

Her fingers laced again. "It is."

"And why's that?"

"Why's what."

"You never married."

Holly gave him a flat look over the rim of her glasses. "It never quite appealed to me." She looked him over with eyes that could scan to the last thread. "I wonder why."

"Harsh."

"And also because I'm a very busy woman," she continued just as icily as before. "I'll emphasize that point. We've already been sitting here for seven minutes."

"No kids? No family?"

"None of it interested me. I don't waste time on things I'm not interested in." She raised her brows, letting her words sink in. Her manicured nails tapped the tabletop. "So if you wouldn't mind."

Cosher stared at her coldly. He retrieved his half-smoked cigar from the ashtray and struck a match on his thumbnail and lit it again. Her lips pressed into a hard line. He didn't like this woman. She didn't have a chink in her armour either. She was metal all the way through.

"You're the private secretary of sorts, yes?"

"Yes."

"Schedules, accounts-"

"I'm aware of what my job is," she cut in. "Do hurry to the point."

Cosher puffed on his cigar. "Y'know, you're not too popular down in the town. I think I see why now."

"I'm very hurt and offended," she said dryly. "Now, I'm going to push this along for us. You're going to ask me where I was when the church caught on fire. I was here, at this exact table, in this exact seat. You're going to ask me why we were late. The answer is that I don't know. I was simply informed we were going to be late. I assume it was an issue of some sorts with the car. I heard the explosion and I saw the church collapse from that window. Anything else?"

He sat in silence for a moment. "You run your mouth too much. Probably because you never had a husband."

"One of my better decisions." She inclined her head. Her glasses flashed. "Are we done?"

He continued staring. Then he smiled an unpleasant smile. "I think I'm beginning to fancy you."

She got to her feet and left with no further comment. The door closed quietly behind her; he saw a white gloved hand on the handle. The Mayor and Holly Horsley were two parts of one person, that he saw from the start. They stood together and they moved together and he seemed to stand just that bit closer to her than to anyone else. He'd have to keep an eye on them. But for now, it was time for the next suspect.

The man sat across from him in silence. He stared at the far corner of the table with eyes that were holding a flood of emotion. He was tall and broad-shouldered and he folded his arms in front of him like a barrier to the world. This one had chinks in his armour, so many he almost couldn't believe it. Cosher cleared his throat.

"You're a big guy."

The man finally looked at him. He had an expression on his face that made it seem that they had been feuding for centuries. "I know."

Cosher ignored the hostility. "Cigar?"

"No."

"Cigarette?"

"Fine."

He took one and lit it. His hands moved in a surprisingly gentle manner as he did so. Then he lapsed into silence again. He glared at Cosher's tie like it was an old enemy.

"What's your deal here, moose?"

The man looked at him again, his brows still knitted. "What's  _your_ deal. What are you doing here."

"To put whoever killed forty people behind bars," he replied simply. "That's all."

He took a drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out sharply. "Right. Good luck."

"Thanks." Cosher looked him over. "You're Detective Tinsley, aren't you."

His face dropped a tad. Just a tad. "According to who."

"Two very frightened and angry women from this town."

Tinsley sat back, crossing his legs at an angle as he observed the man across from him. "It's just Tinsley. I'm not a detective. Not now."

"And why not?"

Tinsley smiled so dryly it must've hurt. "Can't be a detective when you've lost all autonomy, right?"

Cosher frowned. "You're being held here?"

"As a hostage of sorts. Indefinitely."

The words were firm, but the man's hands shook as he rubbed at the pointed end of his nose. His face was paler now than when he'd first come in. Cosher finally spoke.

"I can help you."

"No you can't. Ricky never loses. Not to me, not to those people in the church, and he won't to you." Tinsley took another long drag on his cigarette, his gaze aside, unfocused. "Just leave while you can."

Cosher looked him over. This wasn't the man Ms Norris and Ms Delaney had described. They'd painted a picture of a daring man with charm and wit and a disdain for pretentiousness. What sat in front of him was barely a man at all. He took a puff of his cigar.

"I know that boy's type. I-"

"You don't," said Tinsley, meeting his gaze. "And the worst thing you can do is assume you know his type. He isn't a type. There's no one like him in this rotten world. He'll lie and he'll cheat and he'll do things you've never thought imaginable."

Cosher waited for him to continue. This man had a lot of words to say about this Ricky Goldsworth, and they were finally being said.

"He's a monster," said Tinsley quietly, his gaze led aside by memories. "He can hurt you in ways you didn't even know you could be hurt. And those ways hurt the worst, you know. You don't even see them coming. But believe me, you bare even a centimetre of your throat and he'll rip it out in seconds."

Cosher watched the man stub the cigarette out with vigor, the ashtray rattling. "What'd he do to you, moose?"

Tinsley shook his head, arms folded across his chest as he sat back and crossed his legs. He stayed silent.

Cosher eventually spoke, deciding to just go for it. "Did he burn down the church?"

"Yes." Tinsley looked at him again, his face stiff. "Those people in that church thought they could beat him. I thought I could beat him. He killed all of them." He swallowed hard, blinking a few times. "He killed every single person who tried to take away what was his."

"And what about you." Cosher raised a bushy brow. "Are you his? Will he kill me if I take you away?"

"Probably." Tinsley's fingers tapped his arms where he gripped them. "He'd kill me too. He'd rather me dead than be free."

Cosher nodded, as if he understood. He didn't. He'd never met anybody like these people. The whole thing was sick. He tapped the ash off his cigar.

"Do you have any proof he burned the church?"

Tinsley sat quietly for a few minutes, watching him. The silence stretched so long that Cosher wondered if the man simply wasn't going to respond. Then he did.

"I used to have an office in the station," he said, his voice low. "It was the second one on the left on the bottom floor. The third drawer in the desk has a set of files. They're labelled. With names."

Cosher visibly lit up, his head rising. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Tinsley looked just a tad smug; a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. "Give them a look. They should have everything you need."

Cosher smiled at him; it wasn't a nice smile. "Thank you for your assistance, detective."

Tinsley got to his feet, giving the man a nod before leaving. His heart was racing in his chest, he could almost taste it in his throat. He kept his face blank. No one could find out what he'd just given the chief. He'd be dead within seconds. But he couldn't have passed on what he'd been offered; a single sweet opportunity to cause some trouble, to give these people what they deserved. To give Ricky what he deserved. The potential of what might happen now was giving him a rush like nothing else, but he had to hide it. He went to the kitchens and helped himself to some toast. For the first time in a long time, he was hungry.

* * *

This one wasn't even wearing armour, but he didn't need to. He was on the offense too frequently to be bothered with defense. Ricky Goldsworth, not only the talk of the town, but the talk of the surrounding towns too. A monster. A madman. A power-hungry tyrant. He didn't look like one. He had a sweet smile and a darling face and looked much more like an angel than a demon. Except for his eyes. Big and black and deep, and with an animal edge to them. He looked at Cosher, chin resting in his hand. Cosher looked back with a stiff smile.

"Mr Goldsworth, there is a substantial amount of evidence building up against you in this case already. The order for the extra barrels of boat oil was signed by you, the workers at the dock say that you gave the order to place the barrels in the church. You have an endless amount of motives, if the talk in the town is true. And you were late for no solid reason. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Ricky's eyes were glittering, entertained. He waved a vague hand. "What are you planning on doing here, Chief?"

Cosher inclined his head. "If you're found guilty, you'll go to prison. I don't have anything planned, so to say."

"I'll go to prison." Ricky smiled at this, like it was an only slightly amusing joke. "I see. And how would that process go, in your mind?"

"Peacefully. Quietly. But my mind is different to reality, I suppose."

"Mm."

"I have the feeling you'd resist arrest," said Cosher. "Is this feeling correct?"

"You're very proper, aren't you?" Ricky spoke distractedly, lighting a cigarette. He flipped the tin closed with a  _snap_. "This is my home, chief. This is where I was born and this is where I live and this is where I'll one day die. This is where I belong, and I won't be leaving just because someone threatens me with a pair of handcuffs." He let the smoke curl out between his lips. "I'm sure you belong somewhere too. I'd advise you go back there."

Cosher nodded as if he'd been given some wise advice. "You like the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

"No reason why I shouldn't."

"And you have a bit of a mouth on you."

"Don't I."

"I'd like to take you down to the station and begin a proper interview and a proper investigation," said Cosher, seeing the other man's eyebrow quirk. "If you'd comply, that'd be fantastic."

Ricky pretended to ponder it. Then he smiled again. "I'll have to refuse. I'm very busy, I'm afraid."

Cosher looked the man right in the eye. "You did it, and you're not even bothered to pretend otherwise."

"Accidents happen," he replied.

"Accidents don't just happen. They're caused."

"Profound."

"Alright, pal." Cosher spread his large hands with a shrug. "You don't wanna come down now, that's no problemo. But you will. I'll drag you down if I have to. This isn't my first rodeo."

Ricky paused in giving his jaw a distracted scratch. He didn't seem too impressed. He sat forwards, elbows resting on the table, fingers linking together. "A lot of people were fond of that idea, you know. A while ago now. They just couldn't wait to drag me out of here. Do you know where are they are now?"

Cosher held his gaze despite the intensity. "Gone, I suppose."

Ricky smiled, amused. "Gone. A vague word. I'd rather say slaughtered."

A silence with barbs on it. "So you confess that you did it."

"It's not a confession, chief. It's a warning." The smile was gone now, replaced with a steely stare. "It's the only one you're going to get."

"I see." Cosher sat where he was for a moment, chewing on his cigar. Then he got to his feet, still staring right back at the other man. "I'll be back for you, sweetcheeks."

Ricky's lip curled at the unwelcome nickname. He watched the chief stride out the door. He didn't wait for the Mayor to let him out; he just opened the door himself and let it slam shut after him. Ricky sat back and crossed his legs, an arm hanging over the back of the chair. He looked at Holly and the Mayor as they came in and sat across from him, both looking pale with worry.

"We'll be fine," said Ricky coolly. "And if we're not, I'll make us fine."


	6. The Long Arm of the Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cosher and the mayor: bitches  
> ricky and tinsley: horny  
> holly: tired

Cosher strode into the office. It was dusty and stuffy, and clearly hadn’t been occupied in a long time. He went to the desk and picked up the name plaque. _Chief McClintock_. He didn’t have to guess where the guy was now. Cosher tossed the plaque into the trash can as he moved around to take his seat at the desk he’d now claimed as his own. He wouldn’t need a name plaque. Everyone would know exactly who he was before the week was out.

The files from Tinsley’s previous desk drawer were laid out, ready for him to read. He appreciated the help. As a reward, he’d take Tinsley on as part of the force. Cosher gave credit where credit was due. Tinsley had helped him. Therefore he would be rewarded. Vice versa would also apply.

He skimmed through the smallest file. It was titled Lucía Goldsworth. It also had a date of death. He tore it in half and in half again and tossed it into the trash. He picked up one labeled The Mayor. Infanticide was the only direct crime on the list, and it was crossed out. Underneath was a long list of crimes he had been an accomplice in. Holly Horsley was mentioned frequently. A Montepulciano family and their murder was also described, along with an unnumbered amount of staff. Nothing quite solid to go by apart from a source of this information. Cosher called in an officer.

“Go check out a Doctor Fear’s office, would you? He should have newspapers or some crap. Bring me _only_ the relevant ones, I don’t want a pile of them to sort through.”

He put the Mayor’s file aside. He opened up Holly Horsley’s. It was a bit thicker. She had two murders listed. A chauffeur and a waitress. Ah, so the butler had lied about them never having a chauffeur. Cosher scribbled this down on the notepad resting under his hand. He placed hers aside, on top of the Mayor’s, before moving to the juiciest file. Ricky Goldsworth’s was almost overflowing. He sorted through Tinsley’s scrawl, drafting up a list of the man’s crimes.

Blackmail. Assault. Attempted murder. Murder. Cosher’s eyes widened a tad at the list of murders. Various men, strangled, stabbed, drowned, buried. The guy was insane. Cosher sent another officer off to the graveyard to have the names checked. Then he totted up the full amount of deaths this Ricky Goldsworth had caused. It was pushing sixty, with the arson attack included. The guy only looked about thirty; he must've started young. Cosher closed over the file. For a moment, he felt a bit unsettled. Then he pushed the feeling aside and got down to some real work.

The men outside were almost finished. They'd brought the wood for the scaffolding with them, as they did every time. The three sisters were overlooking the construction, like three murderous magpies. They smiled at him as he came over.

"Great that you're here, chief," said Bel, smiling wide. It was the only way she ever smiled, but it was as false as the gold cross around her neck. "Have you met the family?"

"Family?" He snorted. "They're a mismatched bunch of miscreants. Looks like the boy's mother died this year, too." 

"Oh, may she rest in peace," said Jude, ignoring the dry look thrown at her from the chief.

"Look, you three will work on the townsfolk, alright? You can spread your religion around if you want, but that's not why I wanted you here." He lowered his voice. "You have to make the town like me, alright? Then you'll get your damned church renovated, courtesy of me."

Bernadette smiled demurely, cigarette resting between the fingers of one hand. "You are a man of your word, chief. We'll make them like you."

"Fantastic, sisters." He watched a man and wife wander past the gallows, both looking equally concerned. "How's the town reacting."

"They're quite worried," said Bernadette over the hammering of nails into wood. "They all believe that since they sat aside and let the Goldsworths do what they've done, that they could all be viewed as accomplices. Same reason no one's ever risked leaving the town."

"Oh yeah?" Cosher folded his arms across his chest, looking the gallows over with frosty eyes. "Well I'm a big fan of rewarding people who help me. Make sure everyone knows that."

"They're very scared of the boy," said Jude wispily, her pale eyes scanning the crowd that was beginning to gather. "This town only understands fear."

He grumbled his acknowledgement. Then he turned his eyes to the manor, perched on the hill. "Well, that's a language I'm pretty fluent in myself."

He fetched his keys from his office and called for Bernie and Oswell and got into the car. They drove up the snaking road to the manor. It was a beautiful building, he had to admit. Fit for a king and queen and all their princes and princesses. He had a feeling this was not the case for this family, however. There wasn't a child to be seen, and no young women but for the maids and a cook or two. Mr Goldsworth wasn't interested in women, it appeared. Cosher didn't care. It wasn't a crime, not in his eyes, and he didn't keep such a view a secret either. That was probably why the force always sent him on such dangerous tasks, hoping he wouldn't come back. But he always came back.

He went right up to the door, trying the handle. It was open. He walked right in, hearing Bernie and Oswell's simultaneous footsteps behind him, crossing the wood floor. The butler appeared at the top of the sweeping stairs, and even from this distance the irritation was palpable.

"You're supposed to knock," he said, beginning to descend the steps. Cosher was already halfway up them. "This is private property."

"I have a warrant."

The Mayor didn't move out of his way, forcing him to a stop. His voice was cool. "I'd like to see it."

"I'll show it to you later," said Cosher with a forced smile. "When I've written it up."

"Then you can come back later," said the Mayor. He didn't bother with a smile. "When you've written it up."

Cosher's face relaxed back into a scowl. "Move."

"I'm afraid it's against the requirements of my job to allow an unannounced visitor into the manor," said the Mayor, his voice still infuriatingly calm. "If you could wait in the hall, I'll let Mr Goldsworth know you're here. Then I'll let you know whether or not he wants to talk to you."

"I don't care what he wants, bub." Cosher went to move past him, looking just a tad surprised as the Mayor's hand caught his shoulder and forced him to a halt on the step beside him. "You ever heard of obstruction of justice? It's a felony."

"So is breaking and entering."

Cosher lowered his gaze to the hand on his shoulder. He considered his options. He raised his gaze to meet the butler's again. The Mayor was still watching him, unblinking.

"Alright, watchdog," said the chief quietly. "I can enter a home without a warrant if I believe I can help a victim of domestic assault or abuse. Yeah, that sounds accurate, does it?"

The Mayor seemed to be seriously pondering this. "I-"

"Let him up, James." Holly appeared at the banister above them, her hands resting on the dark wood. "He's right."

The Mayor took his hand off the chief immediately, turning and leading him up the stairs. Cosher smiled up at Holly, adjusting his tie.

"Smart lady."

"Unfortunately for you," she replied.

"Mr Goldsworth is in the parlour," said the Mayor, openly cooperative now. "It's the third door on the left, sir."

Holly stayed beside the Mayor, watching the cops move off towards the room. She kept her voice low. "It's the right thing to do. We couldn't help him, but maybe this chief can."

Cosher didn't knock. He went right into the room, and froze in his tracks. They were on a couch under the window, wrapped up in each other's arms, their mouths glued together. Luckily, clothed. Ricky was on top, clearly in control of the situation, his hands running over the other man's body, and Tinsley's hands slipped down from Ricky's waist to his hips, not exactly resistant. Cosher stood in silence for a moment, waiting for them to realize someone had come in. They were oblivious. He'd never seen two people so desperate for each other in his life. It almost felt like a crime to interrupt them, but he had to. He cleared his throat.

Ricky opened his eyes, sitting back so that he was settled across Tinsley's hips. He smiled. "Afternoon, chief."

Tinsley propped himself on his elbows instantly, his face flushing red. "...Hello."

Ricky got off the couch, stretching leisurely, arms above his head and one hand gripping the opposite wrist. He wandered to the drinks, mixing a light one for himself. He didn't offer anyone else one. He didn't speak. It was as if nothing was happening around him at all. He only reacted when Cosher spoke.

"Detective Tinsley, if you'd come with us."

Ricky froze, his shoulders stiffening. He half-turned, eyes wide. "What?"

"Not talking to you, sweetcheeks," said Cosher, still looking at Tinsley, who was now sat upright on the couch. "Come on, detective. I'm here for you."

Tinsley stared at him in stunned silence. He risked a sidelong glance at Ricky, who looked as if he'd been slapped, twice. He got to his feet. Ricky eventually got a sentence out.

"He's mine."

Cosher raised a brow at this. "Oh? Detective, do you agree that you're his?"

Tinsley met Ricky's gaze, and behind the anger he could see just the smallest glimmer of fear. "No. I'm not his."

"Wh- Tinsley? Tinsley." Ricky let his drink fall to the floor, following them out into the hall. He was stupefied, his mouth hanging open. "You- You can't just take him. You can't just take him from me."

"I understand he's being held here against his will," said Cosher quite simply. "It's standard procedure for me to free him."

Tinsley stood between the other two officers. Even he looked a little stunned. He waited for Ricky to react, to scream, to rip the chief to shreds. Ricky didn't do any of these things. He was too surprised. He followed them a few steps, stopping beside Holly and the Mayor. Tinsley left with the cops, as suddenly as they'd arrived. The door closed, heavy on its hinges. 

Tinsley sat into the passenger seat of the car. He was light-headed from the fresh air, from the sunlight on his skin, but he wasn't smiling. His heart was still heavy, but it wasn't with sadness anymore. He wasn't too sure what it was. It burned. He ignored the chief's grin.

"You're free now, moose. It was that easy."

Tinsley shook his head. He rested his elbow on the car door, fingers resting across his mouth. "He'll come looking for me. No matter where I go."

"You're not gonna go anywhere." Cosher tapped a happy-go-lucky rhythm on the steering wheel as they drove along. "You're gonna stay right here. It's him who's gonna go."

Tinsley looked at him, an eyebrow arched. "What?"

"You heard me." They reached the town in minutes, parking up outside the station. The shadows from the gallows fell onto the car, right across Tinsley's face. "Now, I'd appreciate your cooperation in all of this, detective."

Tinsley didn't respond but for a short nod. He pushed open the car door. Some of the passing townsfolk did a double-take. A woman dropped her purse. Cosher joined him on his side of the car.

"They thought you were dead, y'know." He grinned nastily. "You're not dead. You're alive. So let's get you kickin'."

* * *

"You're being foolish." Holly hurried down the hall after him, and her throat was sore from listing the extensive list of reasons not to go down into the town. "He's not going to give him back. He-"

"I'll take him back." Ricky whistled for Diablo as he crossed the gravel drive to his car. The dog slipped out past Holly's legs, trotting after him. "And if anyone tries to stop me, I'll kill them."

Holly wrung her hands, but she knew better than to go with him. "Ricky, if you go down there I have a feeling you're not going to come back."

"Sir, I'd advise that you don't go," said the Mayor from behind her. He also looked highly unsettled, and his hands were clasped tight behind his back. "Miss Horsley is correct. This man isn't to be trifled with."

Ricky stood beside his open car door, letting Diablo scramble into the passenger seat. He gave them a disapproving look. "He's an old man."

"Not that old," muttered Holly with a frown.

"Old enough," said Ricky firmly, one hand resting on the top of the car door. "It's nothing I can't handle. If you don't want to come, fine. I'll be back later."

He got into the car and gave Diablo a quick pat before starting the engine and burning rubber out the drive. He screeched to a halt outside the station, getting out and slamming the door loud and clear. He stared at the gallows.

"Who the hell built this crap?"

Cosher answered from the station's front doors. "I did."

Ricky glared at him, unbuttoning his coat as he moved towards the chief. A few of the town had already paused at the commotion, along with a considerable amount of uniformed cops. Ricky stopped at the bottom of the steps, and the anger flared as Tinsley appeared at the chief's shoulder. He was watching Ricky with an icy face. Ricky set his teeth.

"You know, I appreciate you coming to me," said the chief, wandering down the steps. "I wasn't looking forward to going back up to your lovely house with your not-so-lovely butler."

Ricky didn't back away. His eyes drifted aside at the sound of shuffling footsteps. He turned his head to look over his shoulder; there were more officers now, and a considerable amount of townsfolk, watching with apprehension. Ricky looked back up at the chief, his face stiff. Cosher came down the steps towards him, slow, casual.

"In case it wasn't obvious, you're under arrest, Mr Goldsworth. For a long list of crimes I'll read to you as your bedtime story tonight."

Ricky stared at him over the collar of his coat in silence, standing side-on. He turned his gaze to the gathered crowd, daring them, daring anyone to make a move, to even make a peep. He gave Cosher one last once-over. Then he turned away, moving back towards his car. Two cops moved to block his way. One of them caught him by the arms. Ricky stiffened, his gaze lowered. When he spoke, it was so forcefully calm it hurt.

"Let go of me. Now."

The cop didn't let go. He looked down at Ricky with stony eyes. His partner didn't budge either. Ricky gave a bit of struggle, attempting to pull away. The grip on his arms just tightened, he felt another hand catch him by the back of the neck like a bold dog. His voice rose, furious.

"Get off me. Get off!" He struggled fiercely, shoving one of them away, feeling another pair of arms catch him around the waist, lift him halfway off the ground, his legs peddling. "Get your filthy hands off me! GET OFF ME!"

He twisted and turned in the cop's grip, kicking out, shouting obscenities. He grabbed hold of the arms around his waist, his hot glare fixed on Cosher, who was watching with a nasty grin. Tinsley stood stoic beside him. Ricky's words were snarled.

"You will _order_ them to let me go. Let me go!" He lashed out at another cop that had dared to get too close; the man stumbled away with a bloodied nose. "Do you know who I am? Have you lost your fucking mind?!" He looked at Tinsley, who couldn't quite hide the smug look on his face. "Tinsley. _Tinsley_. Tinsley, tell him to let me go! You can't do this!"

No one moved an inch to help him. Ricky stared wide-eyed at Tinsley as the cops began dragging him towards the steps. He gritted his teeth in a snarl, his breaths firing in and out of his mouth. He let out a furious shout, struggling like a wild animal, tearing himself from the cop's grip, going at them with everything he had. They fled a few steps, and Ricky went to follow, to show them exactly what they were in for if they ever ignored him again. He didn't make it. Someone caught him by the collar of his coat, yanking him backwards, and he saw Cosher's face for a split second before the punch hit him like a hammer. He dropped to his knees, clutching his jaw, feeling the blood running hot over his tongue. He looked up at the chief, his ruffled hair impeding his vision somewhat. But it was Ricky; he didn't need his vision in such a situation.

He threw himself at the chief, and Cosher caught him by the throat with such force Ricky's feet lifted off the ground a tad. Ricky struggled to reach him, spitting curses and threats, clawing at the hand around his throat. He was shoved back a few steps, putting some distance between them. Then Cosher came at him with fists raised like a professional. He was unexpectedly quick; he'd gotten three body shots in before Ricky had even processed what was occurring. He drove a hard uppercut into Ricky's stomach, just below his ribs, knocking the wind from him with a violent cough, Ricky's knees giving out instantly. He dropped to the ground, one hand pressed to the stone and the other cradling his stomach. Cosher kicked him in the side with enough force to throw him onto his back with a cracked rib or two. Tinsley watched in satisfied silence as Ricky rolled slightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he struggled for air, hands clutching his stomach. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Ricky managed to roll onto his side, one hand pressed to the stone, his breaths panted, trembling. He forced himself to his feet, stumbling a step, one hand gripping his side. Then he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud and sharp. The sound of paws thundering against stone was quiet at first. The gathered townsfolk let out a surprised chorus of shrieks on one side as Diablo bounded through them before throwing himself at the nearest cop with snarling snapping teeth. The cop screamed, falling to the ground, the sound of ripping flesh inaudible under the crowd as they cried out in horror. Ricky went at Cosher again with the same ferocity, focusing only on him as Diablo terrorized the rest of the force. A cop emerged from the station with a catch pole, and he seemed to debate whether he should go at Ricky or go at the dog. His decision was made for him as Cosher swiftly had Ricky on the ground again, striking him across the face repeatedly, not stopping even as blood appeared on the stone beside Ricky's head. The dog let out a yelp as a cop got in a tap with a baton. Tinsley watched the chaos with cold eyes, watched as the loop at the end of the pole was slipped over Diablo's head, catching him around his neck, watched as Ricky was forced onto his front, his arms yanked behind his back, his wrists pinned together before being cuffed. He stared at Tinsley with furious eyes as he was pulled onto his knees, his mouth open to pant for breath, dripping blood freely.

Ricky's gaze traveled over the surrounding crowd, at their smug smiles. He noted each and every one of their faces, his mouth still dripping blood onto his shirt. He was forced to his feet and up the steps, and he didn't take his eyes from Tinsley's as he passed him by, refusing to limp, to show how much pain he was in. Cosher smiled at the crowd.

"Show's over, folks. Enjoy your evening." He glanced at the cops. "Chain that animal up outside. I'll sort this one out inside."

Tinsley followed him into the station, the doors being closed behind them. He listened to Ricky's livid shouts growing more distant, watching with a blank face. He followed the chief to his office, standing in the doorway. “What happens to him now.”

Cosher smiled, moving to the brass washbasin inside his office door and wiping his hands clean of blood. “Well you’re a piece of work. I assumed you two were… involved.”

Tinsley didn’t look away from the man’s cold eyes. “What happens to him.”

“He goes to the nearest city for questioning,” replied the chief, drying his hands with a towel. He lit a cigar, puffed at it a few times. “When he’s ready.”

Tinsley raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean.”

“Oh, you know what it means. You’re in the business.” The man shrugged, tapping his cigar with a finger. “No point sending a live animal to the butcher, right?”

“You-”

“We’ll break him down a bit. See how far we get in a week.” The chief smiled again through his haze of cigar smoke. “I’ve broken a good few people in my career, but this one is something else. What’d’ya think he’ll do? I think he’ll cry like a little bitch.”

Tinsley didn’t react to the harsh words. He didn’t like this man in front of him, but he was useful, and he got the job done. “Will he be allowed visitors?”

The chief rested his elbows on the desk between them. “What’d he do to you, moose? You seem pretty stoic. He must’ve hurt you bad.”

“Will I be able to see him,” said Tinsley, refusing to be distracted.

The chief chewed on his cigar, looking him over. “Usually I say no. This is a delicate process.” He paused. “Actually no. That’s a lie. It’s a brutal one. But either way, I’d usually say no. This time, though…” He pointed at him with his cigar. “We might be able to help each other out here.”

Tinsley gave him a long look. “I’m not going to rile him up for you. I won't spite him. Not to his face.”

“And why not?”

“Because Ricky runs on spite. That’s the reason he does what he does.” Tinsley shrugged. “It’s probably the only thing that’s still keeping him going. Spite won’t kill him. He’ll just latch onto it and never let go.”

"Yeah, spite won't kill him. Ol' Sparky will."

Tinsley seemed satisfied with this. He turned his head aside, a smile already pulling at his face. Cosher let him go. He sat down at his desk and kicked his feet up. Then he pondered what to do with the other two in that manor. He called in Bernie and Oswell.

"How many men we got here? Enough for a quick siege?"

"Give or take, chief."

Cosher smiled around his cigar, elbows on the arms of his chair, fingers linked over his stomach. "Great. Round 'em up."


	7. No Matter What Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> violence!!! not graphic or bloody, but it's there

Tinsley sat in his car for a moment, rolling a cigarette around in his fingers. He looked at the manor, feeling a tad anxious at the prospect of going inside, of returning to his prison, even if it was only for a few minutes. The driveway to the front door was mayhem; cop cars and armed officers were setting themselves up like they were going to battle. Tinsley got out of his car, taking a quick second to light his cigarette. The badge on his belt felt unusual, but not unwelcome. He paused beside Bernie and Oswell, who were near the front of the kerfuffle.

"The negotiator is here," said Bernie. It was hard to tell whether or not he was joking. "Let him through."

The cops let him through. Two guards stood in front of the closed door into the manor. Tinsley recognized them instantly. How couldn't he have? They'd been accompanying him everywhere he'd gone for the last two months.

"What the hell is going on here?" asked Harrison. He had a rifle in hand, matching Hale's. "What are you doing, Tinsley?"

He paused in front of them, giving them both a level look. "Just following orders. As I'm sure you're familiar with." He reached between the two, knocking lightly on the door. "I hope you have a back-up career."

The Mayor answered the door, and his face dropped at the sight of Tinsley. "Oh. Detective."

"Yeah."

Tinsley brushed past, striding straight for the dining room. He didn't wait to be introduced. He pushed open the door, and Holly was already waiting. She sat in her usual seat, with a cup of tea to her left and a pot and empty cup to her right. Tinsley looked at her with unforgiving eyes. He strode down the table and pulled out a seat and sat down. She offered him tea. He ignored the offer.

"I'm sure you know why I'm here."

Holly sipped her own tea, not looking at him. "I didn't know they'd send you. I guess this chief is playing some psychological warfare."

Tinsley continued as if she hadn't spoken. "The chief wants you. He wants to charge you with double homicide. Then he wants to arrest you and sentence you to death." He watched her face; it was pale and stiff. "I'd be willing to starve you out of here, but he's not as patient as I am. He'll give you until midnight tomorrow to hand yourself over, or he'll send his men in and everyone in this building will die. Did you get all that?"

Holly kept her gaze lowered. She sniffed. "Can I ask why you're doing this?"

Tinsley's voice was steel. "Ricky took away a good friend of mine. The only innocent person in this whole town. How many people do you think he's hurt over the years? How many men has he taken away from their friends? Their families? I want him to know what that feels like. He deserves every last bit of pain I'm going to put him in."

Her reply was quiet. "You let him change you. I knew you would."

"You always know everything, don't you." He got to his feet, a hand just brushing the table. "Then I hope you know how this is going to end."

"I'm not going to hand myself over."

He stood where he was, observing her. She wasn't looking at him; she seemed to be refusing to. "It doesn't matter what you do. It's going to end the same way anyway."

"You're a very bitter person." She finally looked at him, her gaze numb. "We kept you alive."

Tinsley looked down his nose at her, his jaw set. "If you'd truly been merciful, you would've just let me die."

He turned on his heel, fists clenched by his sides as he paced down the room, gritting his teeth. He passed by the Mayor, not even sparing him a glance. He dusted off his hands as he moved back towards his car. He reversed out of the driveway, out between the gates, turning back towards the town. Now that he'd done that, the chief would give him what he wanted. Cosher was a fair man, in the very worst of ways. Give him something, he'll give you something back. Whether good or bad.

* * *

"The boy's damn rabid," said Cosher, closing the door behind them. "See this? Bite mark. The bastard bit me."

"Yeah, he's fond of that."

"He took down two of my men on his way into that cell. Maybe I should've brought a zookeeper or two." Cosher whistled through his teeth. "How did you handle him, moose?"

Tinsley shrugged, answering vaguely. "Luck."

Cosher let him lie. He knew exactly how the man beside him had handled Ricky Goldsworth, and it was because one was just as wild as the other. Tinsley could simply hide it better. But there was a viciousness in him, and it was the type that would never go away. For now, this was useful. It probably wouldn't be so for long.

The guard at the door to the cells let them pass. Tinsley squinted in the dark; there was just a single candle, and it shone off the iron bars. Only one cell was occupied. Cosher told Tinsley to wait. He went in ahead. The door was shut.

Cosher ran his keys along the bars, loudly. “Oh Ricky!”

There was no response for a few minutes. Ricky came out of the dark, right up to the bars. He was terrifyingly calm. “Good morning. Afternoon. Evening.” He smiled, resting his elbows on the horizontal bar that crossed the vertical. “Maybe even goodnight. Damned if I know, right?”

The chief smiled right back. “A friend wants to see you.”

“A friend.” Ricky picked at his teeth with a distracted gaze, running his tongue along them. “What friend is that, chief?”

“Detective Tinsley. He’s _very_ eager.”

Ricky’s face was dark. “I don’t want to see him.”

“You don’t get a say, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t want to fucking see him.”

“When you’re behind these bars,” said the chief lightly, giving them a tap with his keys. “You don’t have a voice, really. All you can do is sit and look pretty.”

Ricky took hold of the bars, white-knuckled, his forehead resting against them. His eyes were burning. “You can’t keep me in here.”

The chief raised his eyebrows, looking around with big eyes. “That’s… strange. Because I am keeping you in here. And no one’s trying to stop me. Seems like no one was a fan of Mr Ricky Goldsworth, hm?”

Ricky bared his teeth in a snarl, gripping the bars so tight his arms shook. “I’m going to get out of here. And my face is going to be the last thing you see before you  _fucking_ die.”

“I don’t think you heard me right.” He spoke slowly, clearly. “No one is trying to stop me. No one wants to help you. You’re alone. _Capice_?”

Ricky smiled with all his teeth, his gaze unblinking, unwavering. “I’ve been alone for a long while now, and I’m going down in history because of it. Me being alone doesn’t frighten me.” He growled the words. “But it should frighten you.”

“Oh, I’m terribly frightened. It’ll keep me awake tonight when I’m in my lovely cosy bed.” He pulled a face at the cell. “Oh. No such luxuries for you, Mr Goldsworth.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“The floor looks awfully uncomfortable.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Not even a blanket? Cruel.” The chief let a smirk play across his face as he heard the harsh exhale from the other man. “And no one to keep you company. Not even your loverboy.”

“I’ll fucking kill you,” said Ricky again, each word viciously sincere.

“And no mommy either. That’s just too bad.” The chief raised his brows in vague surprise as Ricky suddenly closed his teeth on the horizontal bar between them, biting it hard, his glittering eyes stuck to the chief’s neck. “Well. You’re truly rabid, aren’t you.”

Ricky didn’t reply, snarling around the metal bar between his teeth. He didn’t let go, not until the chief disappeared out the door. Ricky slackened his jaw, tasting the iron on his tongue. For a moment he leaned against the bars, his fists clenching around them, his chest jumping with each unsteady breath. Then he shook them hard, hard enough for them to rattle. His words echoed around the station.

“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT NOW! LET ME-“

He went silent as the door opened again. He leaned forwards against the bars, his lips parting to let out a quiet, trembling breath. Tinsley came over to him, but stayed a safe distance. He looked at Ricky in dead silence. His face was unreadable, carved from stone. Then he opened his mouth and said: “Hey, baby.”

“FUCK YOU!” Ricky lashed out at him through the bars, grabbing hold of them and shaking them furiously. “FUCK YOU! I’LL KILL YOU!”

“You deserve this. You deserve nothing less.”

Ricky spat at him, hitting him in the face. “Fuck you.”

Tinsley wiped the spit off his face, his lip curling in disgust. “Jesus.”

“You are so goddamn lucky that these fucking bars are here.” Ricky couldn’t calm his heart; it was pounding in his chest, making his breaths jump. “I’m gonna take all your damn teeth out and make you swallow them.”

“The only thing you’re going to do is be put on trial and die.”

“You can’t do this to me.” Ricky blinked his big eyes, letting them water, letting the tears build up along his lashes. His bottom lip trembled. “Please. Tinsley.”

“Don’t even bother trying that.”

Ricky didn’t react for a moment. Then his nose wrinkled, his teeth showing themselves again. “When I get out, you’re first.”

“You’ve turned into a little animal, Ricky.” He looked down his nose at him, his words unemotional. “It’s about time you were put down.”

“Why are you doing this?” Ricky paused to let a few panted breaths in and out, his throat working. “Why- Why are you doing this to me. You know what I’ve been through.”

“And you know what  _I’ve_ been through,” replied Tinsley with sudden ferocity, jabbing a hard finger at him. “You know what was taken from me. You know how many people I’ve lost and you just went ahead and took  _more_.” He blinked through his tears, swallowing hard. “Banjo was my friend. He was my  _friend_ , Ricky. He was kind and he was gentle and you- you  _killed_ him.”

Ricky set his jaw. “That wasn’t my intention. I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to take anyone from you, because you were meant to fucking die as well! But as usual, you didn’t!”

Tinsley grabbed hold of the bars so suddenly the other man took a reflexive step back. “I hope you suffer. I hope you fucking suffer and I hope you think of me the whole time. I hope you spend each and every second thinking about how I’m the reason you’re suffering.”

Ricky stared at him with wide eyes. Then a slow smile slipped onto his face. “Feels good, doesn’t it.”

“What.”

“I’ve said it to you before. Nothing feels better than giving your enemies what they deserve.”

Tinsley straightened up with a quiet inhale. “It doesn’t make me feel good.”

“Liar. Look at you.” Ricky gave a snarky laugh. “You’re goddamn ecstatic seeing me in here. You’re probably going to get off to the thought of it tonight.”

“I don't think so."

Ricky smiled slyly. "Why? You have some other memories to use instead?"

"I'm not you, Ricky. I can survive without sex for more than 24 hours."

Ricky looked at him in silence for a moment. He reached out a soft hand through the bars, letting his fingertips brush down the other man's chest. "Are you sure? Because if you get me out of here, I promise you I'll give you a night you'll _never_ forget."

Tinsley arched an eyebrow. "You're truly desperate, aren't you."

Ricky went still, his smile faltering. Then he shoved his arm through harder, going for Tinsley's throat, the bars rattling with the impact. The detective stepped out of the way with cruel ease, leaving Ricky pressed against the bars, breathing harshly through gritted teeth. Tinsley looked at him like he was a piece of trash on the floor. He was enjoying this, he had to admit it. Seeing Ricky so helpless was quite pleasant indeed.

"You can't do this." Ricky swallowed hard, one arm still hanging through the bars. "You can't do this to me. I _own_ you."

"You did. For a time."

"No." Ricky shook his head, the most gentle gesture he'd made since he'd been in the cell. "No, I'll always own you. No matter what happens."

Tinsley kept his face blank, although the words cut him to the core. He eventually spoke. "Enjoy your stay, Ricky. With my experience, I've made sure it's going to be very pleasant."

He was halfway to the doors when Ricky's words reached him with such ferocity he stopped in his tracks.

"Remember. Remember what's happened to people who tried to take me down." Ricky glared heatedly at the back of the other man's head, like he could burn a hole through it if he tried hard enough. "Remember me."

Tinsley's head inclined as if he was going to look back at him. He decided against it, and left without another word.

Ricky paced back and forth for hours. He shouted himself hoarse. He rubbed his hands raw on the bars. He scratched at the lock until his fingers burned. He hurt all over; he was hungry, he was thirsty, he was alone. But he didn't give up, he didn't give in. Not once. It never even crossed his mind as an option.

Eventually there was a sign of life from outside. The twin cops filed in with a few officers with them. One of them was carrying the catch pole. One of them lit a fresh candle, hanging it beside his cell. The light hurt Ricky's eyes, but he didn't cover them. He watched the cops huddle and mutter and draw straws. Three of them drew short straws. They looked at Ricky with pale faces. Ricky smiled with all his teeth.

He fought them with tooth and claw, and he was winning until the catch got hooked around his neck. He was yanked back against the bars, the holder of the pole standing on the other side. He struggled forwards, his fingers wrapped around the rope around his neck. It didn't take long then. His hands were cuffed to the bars above his head, and each time he struggled the rope was pulled tight enough to cut off his breath. When they were done, they left. He stayed where he was, panting for breath, pulling at the cuffs every few minutes. It was all he could muster. Eventually he let out a deep sigh, his chin resting on his chest. The cell door rattling brought him back to earth with a bump.

“Well, look at that face. Not a happy camper.” The chief was wrapping his hands in fabric, binding his knuckles with worrying familiarity. “What’s the matter, sweetcheeks?”

Ricky’s nose wrinkled at the term. He didn’t respond otherwise.

“Y’know, I’ve broken people before, and I always found that the richer they are, the more tubby.” The chief stood in front of him, giving his stomach a light tap with the back of his hand. “Well aren’t you an outlier. How’d you manage that, huh? Eat nothing but money?”

Ricky spat at him, and he didn’t miss his mark. “Fuck yourself.”

The chief wiped the spittle off his face with a raised brow, not too impressed. “Little animal.”

“Bite me.”

“You’re scared.” The chief grinned, and it was as unpleasant a look as always. “Poor you. No guards around to help you now, are there?”

“There never were.”

“You’re a hands-on man, hm?” The chief reached up, taking one of Ricky’s cuffed hands and turning it. The knuckles were criss-crossed with light scars. “Well, I guess you are. Have a few of them myself, I do. Used to do a bit of bareknuckle.” He tutted. “Not all of us were born into a fortune like yours, sweetcheeks. Gotta earn money otherwise.”

Ricky rested his head back against the bars. “You could’ve tried being a waiter. Maybe gone crazy and been a bartender. I hear you can get money for - oh what’s it called - working.”

“I’m surprised you know the word.” He took Ricky by the jaw in a large hand, turning his head aside. He eyed the light scar crossing Ricky’s eyebrow. “How’d you get that?”

“Bottle,” replied Ricky stiffly.

“And the nose?”

“Same bottle, but harder.”

“So you’re funny too. No wonder that detective is mad about you.”

“If he was mad about me, he wouldn’t have put me in here,” replied Ricky flatly, resting back against the bars. They dug into his shoulders. “To be subjected to the ramblings of a complete _pendejo._ ”

“Oh he's mad about you alright.” The chief gave him a few light knocks on the chin, just hard enough to push his head aside with each one. Ricky gritted his teeth. “Probably because of your darling little face. What do you not have going for you, hm? Oh, wait. I know. You don't have a mother. You don't have a family. You don't have friends.”

Ricky pulled forwards, the cuffs scraping off the iron bar. “You wouldn't be running your mouth if I wasn't in these fucking cuffs, you prick. You'd be standing there and your tongue would be one cell over.”

The chief narrowed his eyes at him, readjusting his sleeves around his elbows. “Maybe some other time, sweetcheeks.”

“Oh there's no ‘maybe’ about it.”

“Stay still then,” said the chief, standing in front of him. “And don't disappoint me here and start crying, alright? I have a bet placed that you'll crack on Wednesday.”

Ricky didn't look away from his eyes, his lips parted to let his quiet breaths in and out. “My face will be the last thing you see before you die. Remember that.”

“I'll try, but I assume your face will be pretty unrecognisable by the time I'm through with you.” The chief raised his fists, bouncing lightly on the spot as if he was in an actual ring. He smiled nastily when he saw Ricky bracing himself against the bars. “Look here, sweetcheeks. Gimme a smile.”

Ricky snarled a curse when the first punch hit him in the midriff like a hammer. The next few came fast, hitting him back against the bars with each one. He ducked his head, teeth gritted hard as the blows continued landing. They were being pulled a tad at the last second, but they were still hard enough to hurt. A light, almost playful uppercut pushed his head back up. The left hook that followed was not so playful. It snapped his head aside, forcing a harsh curse from his mouth along with a bit of spittle.

“Y'know, I used to be able to knock a guy out with one hit.” The chief shook his hands out before clenching them again. “You ever taken a shot to the liver, dollface?”

Ricky glared sidelong at him, breathing heavily through his nose. His hands gripped the bars where they were cuffed. He didn't respond. Cosher didn't care whether the answer was yes or no. He'd started, and he wasn't going to stop for a while yet.


	8. Nolo Contendere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is dubious legal knowledge in this chapter, but i just read the very simplified version of what i needed and i'm riding off that so DON'T come at me if it's wrong

Holly chewed on her lip, standing in the dining room. She was smoking. So was the Mayor. They observed out the window, at the bustling drive. The cops were still there. They sat on the bonnets of their cars and wandered in circles and waited for orders. The table was stacked with law books from the library, dusty in their leather covers. Holly spoke first.

“Would you say he’s still alive?”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“I pray he is.” She sniffed. “If he’s dead, then I might just go ahead and hand myself over. I failed Lucy. And I failed so easily.”

“He was hard to control. You tried your best.”

“My job isn’t to try my best, James. It’s to be perfect. I haven’t been perfect.”

He didn’t know what to say to this, so he said nothing. They watched and waited and checked the time. Midnight was six hours away. Now it was five and a half hours away. Now it was five hours away. They paced and muttered and wondered what it was all for. Eventually there was the sound of an engine. A familiar car parked outside the gates. Tinsley got out. They watched him coming across the grass towards the manor, tall and unyielding. He was a harder person than he had been when they’d first set eyes on him. He hadn’t smiled in months. His fists were clenched more often than not. His eyes no longer sparkled; they glittered with anger, at everyone, at everything. He knocked on the door. The Mayor let him in.

He went into the dining room, raising an eyebrow at the smoke in the air. “Stressed, are you?”

Holly held her cigarette between two fingers, rubbing her thumb off one of them. “Does that make you happy?”

“Immensely.” He folded his arms across his chest, lax. “Any decisions made?”

Holly looked at him sidelong, pressed her lips in a hard line. “No.”

Tinsley let the smallest smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “Must be strange for you.”

“And why do you think that.”

“Because your entire life here has revolved around making decisions.” He shrugged. “Now, your decision doesn’t matter in the slightest. Your fate’s been sealed for you.”

She kept her head high, taking another pull on her cigarette. The silver enamel holder shone alongside her ring. "Any chance of a trial?"

"A fair one. Which I don't think would be of much use to you."

She turned her head away, swallowing. “Have you seen Ricky?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Tinsley kept his face emotionless. “It’s being debated.”

She turned back to face him, eyes wide behind her glasses. The Mayor stared at him, blank-faced with shock. The silence enveloped the room, thicker than the smoke. Holly’s voice was weak.

“Death?”

“Yes. Whenever he chooses to confess.” Tinsley watched the cigarette drop from her fingers in its holder, sparking as it hit the floor. “So sorry for your loss.”

“You- You bastard.” She paced down the room towards him, stumbling against the chairs. “You bastard! How could you?”

The Mayor caught her before she could reach the detective, and she wept into his chest, turning the lapel of his suit jacket damp with tears. Tinsley listened to her sobbing, hands on his hips. Impatient. He tapped his foot a few times. He checked his watch. He raised his gaze to meet the Mayor’s icy one. Tinsley arched an eyebrow.

“You can’t be upset about this.”

“I think you should leave,” said the Mayor.

“Alright. But remember, decision before midnight.”

“Leave.”

Tinsley escorted himself out. He nodded at Bernie and Oswell as he passed by towards his car. They nodded back. They were very proper and trained very well. The whole force was. Tinsley was finding it just a bit difficult to fit in, but at the same time, he didn't want to. He didn't need to. He'd use them for now and when he was done with them he'd leave. He didn't care what happened to the town. He only cared about what happened to Ricky.

He stopped by his apartment on the way down and made himself some lunch. He showered and gave his beard a trim. He had a coffee, black, as strong as he could make it. He drank it slow, at his window, with a cigarette. He could see the station further down the road, and just knowing that Ricky was in there without any of his usual finery was sweet enough to sugar his coffee for him. When he finished he went down. 

One of the officers told him that Cosher was in the back with Ricky. This seemed like a normal occurrence. Tinsley went down to the cells, the officer on guard opening it for him. Jeez, the guys all looked identical. Did Cosher have some clone machine? Tinsley pondered this as he wandered into the cells. He was pulled back to earth very rapidly and very painfully indeed.

"Ah, detective." Cosher stood in the opening to Ricky's cell, inside of which were two cops. "Didn't know you were going to call in today."

Tinsley didn't reply. He had eyes only for the man on the floor in the middle of the cell. "...What's going on."

"Hm?" Cosher spared a glance at Ricky, an eyebrow raised in vague interest. "Oh, you know the routine. He said he's not gonna talk, so we're gonna make him talk."

Tinsley moved to the bars, slowly, looking down through them. He swallowed hard, trying to steel himself. It wasn't working. He wasn't made of steel. He'd never been made of steel. He was made of damn candyfloss. He didn't take his eyes from Ricky, watching the man attempting to get back onto his feet. He wasn't quite succeeding. Cosher watched Tinsley's face close.

“Do you want a go, moose?”

Tinsley didn’t move. He watched sidelong as the two guards hauled Ricky off the floor, holding him up between them. His head was hanging, blood dripping from his mouth in red strings. The chief moved around behind Ricky, taking a handful of his hair and wrenching his head right back. Ricky swallowed hard, but he didn’t fight. He seemed half-conscious, staring at Tinsley with heavy-lidded eyes.

“C’mon, detective. Nice target for you.”

Tinsley took a minute before he noticed he was shaking his head. “No. No, not like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I- I don’t want this. I don’t want to know.”

“But he’s nice and soft for ya,” said the chief, giving Ricky a pat below the ribs. “C’mon. You might find you like it.”

“I don’t- I don’t want to-”

“Suit yourself.”

The chief drove his fist into Ricky’s stomach without hesitation, an uppercut of professional expertise. Ricky stumbled forwards, doubled over, falling to the floor, dashing his chin off it. The chief let out an _oooo,_ shaking his hand as if it pained him. Tinsley gritted his teeth, eyes round as he heard Ricky draw a shuddered breath before retching, spitting bile onto the cold floor.

“No. No, leave him alone.” Tinsley started forwards as the two guards did, going into the cell. “I said leave him alone!”

The guards paused, looking from him to the chief. Cosher raised an eyebrow. “You feel bad?”

Tinsley couldn’t take his eyes off Ricky, watching him collapse onto his side, curled up in a ball. His face was hidden under his forearm, his hand tangled in his dark hair. The sound that came from him ripped Tinsley’s heart right out.

“Oh, Christ. The little bastard’s crying.” The chief checked his watch, distracted. “And right on time. Lunch break, boys.”

Tinsley didn’t move to follow, his fists clenched by his sides, nails cutting into his palms. He heard the chief say a few words, but he didn’t respond. He heard the cell rattle shut. He heard the door open as the watchmen let them out. But the only thing he was listening to was Ricky’s quiet sobs.

“Ricky.” He crouched down beside him, resting a hand on his shaking shoulder. “Ricky, I- I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t-”

Ricky shook his head, his face still hidden. His voice was a faint whisper. “Go away.”

Tinsley pressed his lips together, his eyes growing hot. “Ricky, I- I-”

“I said go away!” Ricky pressed a hand to the floor, attempting to push himself to his knees. His head was hanging, one arm cradling his stomach. He stayed folded in half, his forehead against the ground. “You did this. You did this to me.”

“I didn’t know he’d do this!” said Tinsley fiercely. “I didn’t know he’d treat you like this!”

“What did you think he was gonna do, huh?” Ricky glared up at him, sidelong, his jaw set. Blood still dripped from his mouth, though not as steadily as before. “Set me up in a luxury condo? Kiss me goodnight? Read me bedtimes stories? You’re an idiot. You’re a fucking idiot and I want you out of my fucking sight.”

“Ricky-”

“Now!” Ricky tried to stand up, falling against the bars, grabbing onto them. His fingers curled around the iron. “Get out! GET OUT!"

Tinsley swallowed again, his eyes fluttering. He eventually turned away, pausing as he saw Cosher standing in the doorway at the end of the row of cells. He didn't like the look on his face. It was cold and thoughtful. He vanished into the hall. Tinsley stepped outside the cell, and a guard came and locked it back up again. Ricky lay where he was, curled up on his side on the cold stone. He was facing away from Tinsley, staring at the damp stone wall that made up the back of the cell. His eyes shone wet with tears, and they shone with anger too. 

* * *

"Give her a trial."

"A trial?" Cosher looked at him like he was a madman. "A trial doesn't matter for her. We have her crimes sorted from start to end, chronologically. Thanks to you."

Tinsley swallowed before trying again. "Maybe I was wrong. I could've been wrong from the start. I was- I was biased. You have to take that into account."

"Biased?" Cosher tapped the small stack of files beside him on the desk. "This stuff is in black and white, detective. They're facts. There's no opinion in here."

Tinsley looked at the files with worried eyes, his hands fidgeting on his lap. "It's unlawful not to give her a trial. You can't just- just _execute_ her without a trial."

Cosher watched him from under bushy brows, grumbling. "You were all for it this morning, moose. What's changed."

Tinsley shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing. Nothing's changed. It just... seems wrong to me."

Cosher observed him for a while. Tinsley squirmed in his chair, trying his best to hold the other man's gaze and failing miserably. He turned his head aside, fascinated by the filing cabinets along the wall. Cosher grumbled again.

"I suppose I could give her a trial. Out of town. I don't have time here."

Tinsley nodded at this, attempting not to appear too eager. "Sure. That makes sense."

"Mm." Cosher still didn't look away from him. His gaze was extra cold today. "And you told her the boy was dead?"

Tinsley gritted his teeth, lowering his gaze to the desk between them. He lied. "Yeah."

"Well I don't know why you're so beat up about it." Cosher shrugged, pulling open his desk drawer and retrieving a cigar. "It was your idea."

"I know." But he'd wimped out at the last second. 

"Alright." Another grumble as he lit his cigar. He puffed at it a few times. "You can go."

Tinsley took the opportunity, leaving the office and closing the door behind him. He kept his face blank as he strode down the hall and out the front door. He didn't look at the gallows; they dominated the street now, and his mind too. He only let himself breathe once he was in his apartment. He poured himself a large drink, dumping himself down on the couch. He rubbed at his tired eyes. He'd been kidding himself. He couldn't go through with any of this. It was too hard, he wasn't put on this earth to hurt other people. He wondered if he had gone too far already.

* * *

Cosher lifted the bullhorn to his mouth, speaking loud and clear. “Miss Horsley, please exit the building or we’ll forcefully remove you.”

Holly stood at the window, her hands pressed to the sill just to stop them from shaking. She looked to the Mayor, who was red in the face with anger. She’d never seen such an expression on him before. She spoke levelly.

“I’ll be royally damned if I leave this building.”

The Mayor glanced at the cars crowding the drive. “Then you can’t leave.”

“You heard him. He’ll come in.”

“Then the guards will do their jobs,” said the Mayor firmly.

“Then we’ll all die,” she replied just as firmly. “No point in kidding ourselves. He has more men. He’ll come in and he’ll grab the opportunity to mow us down.”

The Mayor closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. His voice shook anyway. “...If you leave, you’ll never come back.”

She blinked a few times, looking back at the cars outside. “I know.”

Cosher’s voice reached them again, tinny from the bullhorn. “C’mon, Miss Horsley. You’re smart. Come on out.”

She closed her eyes. A single tear leaked out. She let it drip off her chin. “If I don’t go, he’ll kill both of us. Ricky needs someone, and I’m not an option.” She turned to face him, and she took one of his hands in both of hers. “Lucy told me that she couldn’t bear the thought of him being alone in this world. You have to be here.”

He didn’t react for a long moment. Then he nodded, eyes closing. “I’m sick of owing things to the dead. They control me.”

“I know, I know.” She gave his hand another squeeze, and it was returned. “You’ve done exceptionally well, James. You’ve kept us all on our feet. I’ll never forget you.”

He nodded again, his throat closing. He couldn’t speak. He just followed her down to the hall, where the staff were lined either side of the door. They walked side by side between them, pausing at the open door. The evening sky was afire. Cosher was waiting at the bottom of the steps, hands on his hips as he chewed on a cigar. He watched as Holly and the Mayor embraced, not letting go for a long few minutes, the butler’s chin resting on her grey-haired head. Cosher checked his watch, tapping his foot impatiently. Then Holly finally let go of the Mayor with a sniff, giving his hands one last squeeze. She stepped outside the door. Cosher strolled up and cuffed her, puffing cigar smoke into the air. He let the officers take her away, bringing her towards the nearest car. He glanced at the Mayor, grinning at him.

“You’re next, bub.”

The Mayor eventually took his eyes from Holly’s receding figure, looking the chief right in the eye. “Do you have a family?”

Cosher shrugged. “Yeah. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“I don’t.” He watched the cars leaving the driveway, turning onto the bypass that would lead out of town. “Holly was my family. The only one I ever had. And you took her.”

“She was a criminal. My job is to put criminals in jail.” Cosher turned away, striding back towards his car. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”

The Mayor stood at the door for a long time, even after the cars had all vanished down the snaking road, even as the staff behind him dissipated. He couldn’t bear to go back into the manor. It was empty, so terribly empty now. He sat on the front step, watching the sun slowly descend beyond the sea. A footman asked him what there was to be done. The Mayor said that there was nothing to be done. They could all go home, he supposed. It was all over. The Goldsworths had lost so easily in the end. He was just James again, and James could do whatever he longed to do. He watched the town below, the single lamp hanging from the wrought iron above the station’s front door. He could do whatever he longed to do.

* * *

"Alright Miss Horsley." Cosher slapped the file down on the table between him and her. "Thanks for your cooperation in this. Much appreciated."

She gave him an unimpressed look. "I'm sure."

He sat down across from her, opening up the file Tinsley had provided him with. "Now, I've been informed that you're an unexpectedly dangerous individual. From what I have here, that proves to be true. Did you murder a man and his fiancée not more than six months ago?"

Her reply was flat. "No comment."

"With a Schofield pistol that was found in a coat pocket in your room?"

"May I see said pistol?"

"Of course." He plucked a plastic bag from the cardboard box he'd carried in with him and dropped it on the table between them. The gun was wrapped tight. "This is it, Miss Horsley. Wiped of any fingerprints, which is just as suspicious as if they'd been covered in them. It's been used. How was it used without fingerprints marking the handle?"

Holly observed it as though she'd never seen a gun before in her life. She took hold of it with delicate fingers and turned it over. Cosher smiled.

"It's not loaded. In case you were thinking of pulling a fast one."

"I'm not an idiot."

"That's been brought to my attention, yes."

She laid the pistol back down, her eyes watching it like it could open a secret mouth and betray her every move. "And what other evidence might you have in your possession?"

"To the point. I like that." 

"I'm not flattered."

He smiled again, as unpleasant as ever. He flipped through the pages in the file, coming to a small leaf of paper stapled to the top of the file. "This is a statement from Miss Darla Delaney, who narrowly avoided a fiery death. She swears that you came to her place of work, intimidated her, and forced her into marriage with Ricky Goldsworth. Is this true?"

Holly debated it. "Essentially."

"And Miss Francesca Norris swears that you're the accountant to the family, as in you overlook the buying and selling of narcotics, and their distribution to the surrounding areas. Is-"

"And what did she swear on."

"The Bible."

"Well that means nothing then," said Holly simply. "She doesn't even believe in God. She may as well have been swearing on a blank piece of paper you thrust at her."

"It's true," said Cosher, arms folded on the table. "We have your accounting books in the evidence room. So far, that's homicide, intimidation, and the buying and selling of drugs you have under your belt, with mountains of evidence to support all of it. What do you say to that?"

She laced her fingers on the table, rubbing her thumbs off each other. "What is the suggested penalty for such a... litany of crimes."

Cosher gave her a long solid look. "You'd be hanged by the neck until you're dead."

Holly nodded, looking deep in thought. " _Nolo contendere_."

Cosher blinked. Then his eyes narrowed. "What?"

" _Nolo contendere_ ," she repeated with icy clearness. "I do not wish to contend."

Cosher seemed a bit caught off guard. "You do understand that with the amount of evidence and testimonies in my possession, I can sentence you to the appropriate penalty regardless of the fact that this is not a formal guilty plea."

"I understand," she said, her voice just a tad shaky. "But since I'm not formally admitting guilt, you cannot use the evidence against me in any related cases. There will be no trial and no formal accusation. Ricky and James cannot be proven as accomplices to any crimes I've been convicted with, and I can die happy with that."

Cosher gritted his teeth at this. "Well damn you anyway, Miss Horsley. Damn you to hell." He got to his feet, hands on his hips. "You'll spend tonight here. The penalty for your crimes will be carried out at dawn. May God have Mercy on your soul."

"He never did."

She let herself be led to the cells. She didn't fight or resist or curse. She went quietly. They opened the cell door and she stepped in and it rattled shut behind her, all in pitch darkness. It was only when a match was struck and the candle relit that she saw him and he saw her.

"Holly." He swallowed the tears, crawling over to the bars between them. She hurried over, crouching down and reaching through the bars to cup his bloodied face. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I was stupid. I should've listened to you, I should've listened to you from the start." His voice cracked at the softness of her touch; he closed his eyes, a tear spilling out. "Everything you told me to do, I should've done."

"Shh, shh, it doesn't matter."

"It does. It does. I was so- I was so-"

"Shh, Ricky. It's okay." She refused to cry, she wouldn't. She had to be the strong one. "It's okay, I promise."

"I don't know what to do," he whispered, eyes watery, overflowing. "I can't do anything by myself. I was a fool to think I never needed help. I..." He trailed off, his brows drawing together. "Why are you here?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't find a single word with which to begin. She bit her lip, her eyes helpless as it dawned on his face. His childlike face. Lucy always said he'd never grown into his cheeks, but up close, his eyes held a hundred years of pain. He broke down into a puddle on the floor, and he didn't stop crying, not once the entire night. All she could do was reach through the bars and pat his shoulder and stare at the wall. She cursed Tinsley. She cursed Cosher. She wondered what would've happened if she'd just stayed in England. She didn't wonder this for long; there was no point, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nolo contendere means that a person is not contesting the charges against him or her. On one hand, this plea means that the defendant is stating his or her intention not to contest the charges. However, it may also be inferred as an admission to the charges._   
>  _A guilty plea is always a criminal conviction under certain state laws, barring any movement by the court not to adjudicate guilt. A plea of nolo contendere does not always have the same implications as a criminal conviction. Most importantly, a nolo contendere plea is not a formal admission of guilt._   
>  _One important distinction between a nolo contendere plea and a guilty plea is that it cannot be used as evidence in a case like a guilty plea can. Since the defendant has not formally admitted any guilt to the underlying act, the defendant’s guilt has not actually been proven or accepted._


	9. May God have Mercy on your soul.

It was almost dawn. They could feel it in the air; deceivingly light and fresh. Holly clutched his hands through the bars, and although it was an attempt at comfort, she couldn't help but feel it was desperation on her part too. She hadn't stopped talking for the last hour. If she stopped, it would be just silence, and silence allowed room for thoughts.

"I did terrible things for your mother, Ricky. Terrible things. I always knew they'd catch up with me one day." She swallowed. "I'm not one for kidding myself, or pretending. I had a hunch a day like this would come."

"But what am I supposed to do?" whispered Ricky, still watching her face. "I can't save you. I can't help you. All I can do is sit here and rot."

She pressed her lips together in a wry smile. "You were never one for sitting and rotting. I have to hand it to you, you're by far the most unpredictable person I've served in my whole career."

He didn't smile. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the bars. She cupped his face, brushing a thumb across his cheek. She felt helpless. She _was_ helpless. It wasn't a feeling she was used to. She should say something to comfort him, like Lucy would have. But what could she say without lying? She wasn't proud of him, of what he'd done. He wasn't a treasure to her. She mentally cursed herself; even in her last hours, she couldn't kid herself into exaggerated emotions. 

"Ricky, look at me. Look." She kept a hold of his face; his beard scratched her hands. "I never condoned what you did, you know that. I very rarely encouraged your actions. But if you get your hands on this one..." She let out a quiet breath. "I want you to hurt him. That's all I ask."

For a few seconds she wasn't sure if he was going to reply. Then he said: "I promise."

She took the silver ring off her little finger and pressed it into his hand. It was all she had to give him, in the end.

They came for her within the next twenty minutes. Ricky held onto her hand for as long as he could, until she was escorted out of the cell and into the hall outside. He spilled fresh tears, on his knees, two hands clutching a bar as tightly as they'd clutched Holly.

The station doors were opened for her, and her heart dropped at the crowd that had gathered. They were bloodthirsty, she could see the excitement in their eyes. None of these people liked her. She hesitated, just for a split second, but it was enough for the guards to catch hold of an arm each and pull her forwards like she was a criminal. They parted the crowd for her, pushing through. Tinsley watched her with wide eyes, visible above the rest of the crowd. She looked back, her voice steely.

"I hope you're proud of what you've done."

He shook his head, his words just audible above the rest of the voices. "I'm not, I'm not, I didn't-"

Then he was out of earshot, and she was being escorted up the wooden steps, The noose was silhouetted black against the early morning sky. Her throat felt tight enough already, tight enough to hurt. They bound her hands with rope and put her in place under the noose. She didn't know where to look. She didn't want to look at the crowd and see the eager faces. She didn't want to look sideways and see the chief or his men. She didn't want to look down at the trapdoor under her feet. She looked up, her eyes glazed as she felt the rope being slipped over her head and drawn firm around her neck. Her heart stopped at the feeling. She looked at the manor, far up the hill. Her blood pounded in her ears, her heart was beating so fast she wondered if it was just going to pop. She barely noticed the nuns blessing her. She barely heard Cosher reeling off her crimes and her sentence. She felt like she was deep underwater. The crowd went quiet as a graveyard.

Cosher stood beside the lever, his palm resting on the top of it. “If you have any last words, Miss Horsley, now’s the time.”

She stood quiet for a moment, her gaze distant, watching the manor. There was nothing but the light breeze and the faint sound of swirling water. A bird sang. When she spoke, it was the only sentence Tinsley had ever heard her speak with emotion.

“My soul is safe. I’m glad to die for the ones I love.” She looked at Cosher, at his hand on the lever. “Don’t make a mess of it.”

He nodded without a smile. Then he looked at the nuns and gave them another nod. They chanted: “May God have Mercy on your soul.”

Tinsley closed his eyes, but he heard it. He heard the lever scrape and the trapdoor fall open with a thud and the rope grow taut with such suddenness. A few murmurs rose around him, praising justice and righteousness. He stood quiet and alone and when he opened his eyes all he could look at was the ground before him. It was blurred by his tears, like a watercolour painting. He quickly wiped at his eyes, as subtle as he could manage. Cosher’s voice was flat.

“Cut her down. No point leaving her dangling. I’m not one for symbolism.”

Tinsley was the only one not looking. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard at the sound of metal tearing through rope. He owed it to her to look. She had always been a fan of facing one’s consequences head-on. He raised his gaze slowly, his eyes fluttering. She was laid on the scaffolding, her head tilted away from him. He clamped a hand over his mouth, turning away, shoving through the crowd. Cosher watched him go. He turned the corner of the station and pressed both hands over his mouth to stop himself from attracting attention as he screamed at himself. He used his tie to dry his eyes, sniffing wetly, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside him. He looked back over his shoulder at the manor on the hill, and another wave of dread washed over him. The Mayor hadn’t been told, under Cosher’s orders. And Tinsley had complied, like a fool, like a monster. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep, deep breath. He crossed the road to his apartment, keeping his head turned away from the still-chattering crowd, and the gallows that loomed over them. He went into his apartment and to the phone and dialed the manor. He told the Mayor what had happened. He was hung up on immediately, but not before he heard the choked gasp. Tinsley closed his eyes, holding the phone against his ear even though there was no one there. He whispered a ‘sorry’. When he put the phone down, it rang almost instantly. He made a futile attempt at steadying himself and picked up the phone.

“Tinsley.”

“What was that about?” demanded Cosher, sounding somewhat gruff. “Why’d you run off, moose?”

“I… I’ve never seen someone be hanged before.”

“You didn’t see it today either. You had your eyes shut like a big baby.”

Tinsley wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to apologise for this. He stayed quiet. Cosher grumbled a sentence.

“Get down to my office. I wanna discuss something with you.”

Tinsley nodded, even though the other man couldn’t see. “Sure.”

He changed his tie and splashed cold water over his face. He waited a few minutes to let his eyes not look quite so puffy. Then he went down to the station again. The crowd had dispersed like a pack of vultures after a carcass has been picked clean. The nuns were overlooking the beginnings of the renovations to the church, smoking and chatting. Tinsley stopped by Diablo, who was curled in on himself, whining quietly. The fabric was still around his snout, tight, just as tight as the leash around his neck that held him to the fence outside the station. Tinsley stared at him for a long while. Then he continued on.

Cosher offered him a drink when he came in. Proper stuff, he insisted. None of that watered-down swill. Tinsley accepted it but didn’t taste it. He didn’t sit. He’d listen to whatever the chief had to say and then he’d go home and sleep until none of it felt so bad anymore. Cosher sat down in his seat. It was a plain chair, not Banjo’s old cushioned one. He watched Tinsley curiously.

“Did you like that Horsley woman?”

Tinsley didn’t really know the answer to that. “Sometimes.”

“She was a bad person.”

“Okay.”

This didn’t seem to be a satisfactory answer. Cosher straightened up somewhat. “You ever kill someone?”

 _Not directly_. “No.”

“No. Never even shot someone?”

“No.”

“Then how the hell did you and the boy get so entangled?”

Tinsley shrugged his shoulders slowly, like they each weighed a tonne. “It just happened. I don’t know.”

This, again, was an unsatisfactory reply. Cosher raised a bushy brow, folding his arms on the desk. He tapped his fingers against his arms, lightly.

“He’s a bad man,” said Cosher, sitting back in his chair. His frosted eyes watched Tinsley closely. “And he surrounded himself with bad people, who sat back and let him do the things he did.”

Tinsley didn’t reply. He tilted his head up a tad, simply acknowledging the words. He didn’t like the way the chief was looking at him. There was a touch of self-important righteousness to it.

“If his mother was still here, I’d have her up on that scaffold too.” Cosher spoke casually, lighting a distracted cigar, letting the flame chew on the end for a bit longer than necessary. “She must’ve been as bad as that Horsley woman, or worse. And then the butler. I wouldn’t necessarily call him a bad guy, but he still stood aside and let what happened happen. Blinded by loyalty.”

Tinsley stayed near the door, arms folded. Again, he didn’t respond. He just tried a quick nod, as if to say ‘ _oh yes, I agree_ ’. Cosher continued anyway.

“Mr Goldsworth seems to have a knack for blinding those around him,” he said from behind his thick smoking cigar. “The butler’s is loyalty. Miss Horsley’s was honour.” He waited for a moment, watching Tinsley close. “What’s yours?”

Tinsley swallowed. His mouth was suddenly quite dry. “I don’t understand.”

“Was it love? Devotion?” Cosher took a long drag on his cigar, exhaling the grey-green smoke into the air like a disease. “I know you love him. Is that what kept you quiet about what he did?”

Tinsley opened his mouth to reply, taking a moment to actually get the words out. “I- I- He kept me quiet. He-”

“The entire time?” Cosher inclined his head. “You’ve been here a year or so, haven’t you? What kept you quiet? Empathy? Did you feel sorry for the little brat?”

Tinsley stared at him, his hands gripping his arms where they were folded. “No. No, not at all, I-”

“Then what was it? Why did you stay quiet? Why didn’t you leave and report his crimes to the police?” His words weren’t so soft now. “What kept you quiet, Tinsley.”

Tinsley couldn’t fathom a lie. He closed his mouth, his arms unfolding, resting at his sides. He looked Cosher in the eye. Cosher looked right back, his face hard.

“So you’re telling me nothing kept you quiet.”

Tinsley lowered his gaze, his heart jumping in his chest. He could feel sweat cold on the back of his neck. He turned away, moving towards the door. Oswell opened it for him from the other side, taking hold of his arm in a tight grip. Tinsley kept his eyes on the floor, the panic surging through him. He tried to pull away, subtle at first. He looked over his shoulder at Cosher, his breaths shaking.

“What are you doing.”

“Trimming this dead tree, and all the branches with it.”

Tinsley shook his head, even as he was pulled into the hallway. Bernie had his other arm now, just as tight as Oswell. “No, no, you can’t do this. You can’t do this to me. I helped you.”

“You’re helping me while it suits you,” said Cosher, watching him from where he was still sat at his desk. “But I don’t want a detective on my force who flip-flops between justice and injustice simply depending on what benefits him at the time. _Capice_?”

Tinsley didn’t even notice his own voice raising, furious. “What the fuck are you doing? Is this a fucking joke?” He dug his heels into the ground, refusing to be led away. “Get off me. Get your hands off me! This is bullshit!”

“Justice isn’t a hobby, detective. It’s a lifestyle.” Cosher stood in his office doorway, arms folded as he leaned against the frame. “And you haven’t been living it.”

“You son of a bitch!” Tinsley’s voice echoed around the building, hot enough to raise hell. “You son of a goddamn bitch! Tell them to let go of me! TELL THEM!”

Cosher ignored him, disappearing back into his office and closing over the door. Tinsley debated struggling, fighting, doing what Ricky did and taking down as many as he could. But he decided against it. He let himself be brought to the cells, and he was shoved inside with enough roughness to force a curse from his mouth. The cell door rattled shut. His eyes shut with it.

Tinsley stood at the bars for a long while, clutching them, his teeth gritted. His heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach was churning. He eventually lifted his head, looking over his shoulder at the cell adjacent. Ricky sat against the far bars, arms resting over his knees, his eyes fixed on Tinsley. He looked a mess. His hair was wild and his face was taut and his eyes had black painted under them. He was picking at the stitches along his arm. There was no sound in the cells. The walls were too thick around them. There wasn’t a single window. Just the black bars and the grey stones and a candle lantern dripping wax between their cells. Tinsley wandered over to the bars, looking at Ricky through them. They cast stark shadows on his face.

“You look like shit.”

Ricky was over to him in no time, crossing the cell in mere seconds to jam his arm right up to his shoulder through the bars. His fingers just brushed Tinsley’s chest, the detective stumbling back out of reach. Ricky let his arm hang through, hand clenched in a fist. One of his eyes was visible, glittering in the candlelight, the other hidden behind a bar. Tinsley hadn’t realized he’d continued backing away until he came up against the bars. He leaned against them, breathing heavily through his nose. Ricky suddenly smiled, laughing breathlessly, resting forwards against the bars between them.

“I’m going to kill you,” he stated, a simple fact. “When I get my hands on you I’m going to tear you limb from limb. I’m going to take your throat out with my fucking teeth. I’m going to turn you into fucking pulp. Do you hear me?” He suddenly shook the bars furiously. “DO YOU HEAR ME?”

Tinsley let out a sharp breath, closing his eyes. He slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands, rubbing them down his face to rest over his mouth. He watched as Ricky paced back and forth behind the bars like a tiger in a zoo, fists clenching and unclenching by his sides, muttering under his breath. Tinsley stared at the damp floor.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“SHUT UP!” Ricky grabbed hold of the bars again, white-knuckled. “You shut the fuck up, you idiot. You absolute fucking idiot. How could you have been so fucking stupid to think that _pendejo_ was your friend.” He spat the words. “I hope he lets me have you. I’d get on my knees and beg him to let me have you. You have no idea.”

Tinsley looked at him, gaze dark. “Maybe that wouldn’t turn out in your favour.”

“You have a bad habit of overestimating yourself,” said Ricky quietly. “How has that worked out for you so far, hm?”

“I guess that’s a habit we share.”

Ricky stared at him in cold silence. “I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done. Never.”

“Good.”

Ricky swallowed shakily, blinking back his tears. “She was all I had left. She was the closest thing to family I had left and you killed her.”

Tinsley shook his head. “No. No, _you_ killed her, by not following her advice. She would’ve kept you clean enough so that no cop could’ve ever laid a finger on you. But you-”

“You killed her!” shouted Ricky over him, his eyes shiny with tears. “You did! You killed her and she’s dead because you wanted to hurt me!”

“And it worked.”

Ricky swallowed his tears, but they caught in his throat, loud and clear. “Why are you doing this. Why are you doing this to me. I don’t understand.”

“How could you possibly not understand.”

Ricky stared at him, his eyes shining with unspilled tears. “I loved you. I loved you more than anything else in the world.”

Tinsley stared back in silence, unblinking. “I don’t believe you.”

“I did.” Ricky rested his forehead against the bars, eyes closed. “I did. And I was so stupid not to see that you were the biggest curse that has ever come into my life.”

“ _I’m_ the curse? Are you being serious?” He got to his feet at the audacity of the other man’s words. “What you’ve done to me is unforgivable. Completely and utterly unforgivable.” His voice shook with the sincerity of the words. “Right from the start all you did was torture me. You had no intentions of making me happy and don’t even pretend that you did. It makes me sick.”

“You told me you’d never leave me,” continued Ricky, furious at the tears that were slowly beginning to drip down his cheeks. He wiped at them. “And then you plotted to have me killed. How could you do that to me.”

“You burned fifty people alive!”

"They deserved it!"

"Every one of those people was a better person than you could ever even hope to be!"

"Maybe that's why they lost!"

"You're insane!" shouted Tinsley.

“I’m not insane!” shouted Ricky back, his voice echoing around the empty cells. “They were going to take everything from me. Everything. I’d burn this whole place to the ground to stop that from happening. I’d kill everyone in this damned town.” He let out a few shaky breaths. “I’m the last Goldsworth. The very last one. It’s mine. It’s all mine.”

“You’re not a Goldsworth,” said Tinsley coldly. “You’re your father reincarnated.”

The anger flared in the other man’s eyes, and for a moment Tinsley doubted even the iron bars were enough to hold him back. The words were snarled.

“You better hope to God I’m not.”

"Or what?" said Tinsley, out of breath from their shouting. "What are you going to do from in there? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You've lost, and it wasn't even because of me. It was because of you and your own stupidity."

"You're in here too. So what does that say about you."

"I don't care what happens to me," he replied quietly. "I only care about what happens to you."

Ricky gritted his teeth, his grip going white-knuckled on the bars. "You're a fool if you think I'm going to let myself be hanged like a dog."

"Like Holly was?"

"FUCK YOU!" He shook the bars with renewed fury, reaching an arm through them as if he had even a chance of reaching Tinsley on the other side. "FUCK YOU! I swear to God when I get my hands on you I'll- I'll-"

"Save your breath." Tinsley sat back down, legs crossed and arms folded. He stared blankly at the floor. "You'll need it for when the noose gets nice and tight around your neck."

"I won't talk," growled Ricky, his unblinking eyes fixed on Tinsley. "I don't care what they do to me. I'll never confess. Never. Do you hear me?"

"How could I not."

Ricky watched his face with narrowed eyes. "Look at you. You're torn up about what you've done. I've never lost a night's sleep over what I've done, but you're in bits. Because you're weak. You thought you could go through with all this, but you can't, and now it's out of your hands and in the end it's all your fault. It's all your fucking fault."

Tinsley turned his head away from him, gritting his teeth. He swallowed despite the lump in his throat. "I'm not going to say sorry, if that's what you're hoping for."

"I don't care whether you say it or not. I only care if you feel it." Ricky's eyes burned bright, feverish. "And by God I'm going to make you feel it."

* * *

The Mayor buried her alone, in a plot of land as close to the Goldsworth mausoleum as he could. As close to Lucy as he could. The mist had set in and it was cold yet soft, just like she had been. It clung to his dark green sweater in little beads. It was the only sweater he owned. He'd spent the last fifty years in various black suits and white shirts. He didn't need them anymore.

He patted the dirt down and he went to the car and he retrieved the roses. She always kept them in her room; a vase of red roses. They reminded her of home. He put them in a small glass jar and set them at the top of the grave in place of a gravestone. He went back to the car again and opened the passenger door and picked up the sleeping ball of fluff. He carried her like a baby, her little paws on his shoulder. She meowed in confusion. He didn't know why he wanted to bring her. He wasn't even sure if she'd understand. He stopped beside the fresh grave and hesitated before setting her down. Victoria stood on the grass for a minute. Her fluffy tail flicked. She put a paw out onto the dirt, dabbing at it. The Mayor watched as she moved onto the grave and set herself down and curled up into a ball. He sighed wearily. She probably didn't know. It was only when he went to pick her up that he realized she knew. She meowed and wriggled and refused to move from the spot. In the end he had to pry her off the soil. He carried her back towards the car, and he sat with her on his lap for a long while. He patted her. She wasn't purring. 


	10. In Black and White or Colour

Cosher stood in the small side door to the kitchens, arms folded. "You didn't answer the front door."

"There's no reason why I should." James didn't move out of the way; he kept one hand on the door. "I'm going to close the door now."

"Ah-ah." Cosher stuck a foot out, holding it open, arms still folded. "Don't be rash."

"There's no one here apart from me."

"Well you're who I want to talk to."

James' brows drew together at this. "No one ever wants to talk to me. I'm just- I was just the butler."

"Exactly." Cosher tried moving forwards again. This time he was allowed pass, but the door stayed open. "I like to think of myself as a fair man. I'm sure you're the same."

"I'm not a fair man."

"You're a loyal man. Just loyal to the wrong folks."

James observed him from a distance. "I'm interested in knowing what gives you the authority to decide right from wrong."

Cosher tapped the burnished gold on his belt. "This here badge, that's what."

"That doesn't give you the authority to decide," he replied calmly. "That gives you the authority to act."

Cosher inclined his head at this, leaning against the nearest counter. "You're a smart man, aren't you."

"I wouldn't be inclined to think so. I never received a formal education."

"You're very well spoken."

"It's a requirement of the job."

"And you fulfilled all your requirements, didn't you?"

James nodded. "Yes. I can say that with certainty."

Cosher nodded, mulling this over. He looked at the man in front of him; even in comfortable clothes there wasn't a thread out of place. He still stood straight and with his hands clasped behind his back. The only thing that had changed were his blue eyes. They weren't cool anymore. They burned. Cosher pursed his lips.

"Well I am a fair man. I understand that all these years, all those crimes you were an accomplice to, you were just doing your job." He went quiet. "Miss Horsley exempted you from certain crimes when she decided not to contest her charges."

James didn't react for a moment. "She was an honorable woman, you know. A good woman at heart. I don't think you understood that."

"That doesn't matter to me," said Cosher quietly. "What matters is right and wrong."

"There's more to life than that." He inclined his head. "You can live your life in black and white or you can live your life in colour. I've lived mine in every colour under the sun. It's not as simple, but it's infinitely more satisfying than monochrome."

"Very poetic, but I'll leave all that to the artists of the world."

James gave a slow blink in response. "Very well."

"I'm here to tell you you're a free man." Cosher gave the stubble on his chin a scratch, thoughtful. "I've turned it over in my mind quite a few times, but in the end I believe you're innocent. A soldier in a war that isn't yours."

"I'd have to openly disagree."

"And why's that."

"I've killed two men in my life, both within the last thirty years."

"So I've heard. Mr Goldsworth's father and grandfather, hm?" Cosher raised a bushy brow. "Seems to be regarded almost as regicide around here, killing a Goldsworth."

"Essentially."

"But no one was angered about that." The chief shrugged his shoulder. "They regard you as some sort of mystical being, you know. A hero of sorts. You saved the town and then you saved Lucía Goldsworth. Explain to me how those actions are evil."

James gave him a steady stare. "You can dub me a free man if you so wish, but I'm not one. I never have been, and I never will be."

"The Goldsworths are gone. Dead."

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that to me."

"Ah, yes, your life is full of colours. I forgot." He straightened up off the counter, arms still folded. "Might be worth your while to start living in monochrome. Brings you peace of mind."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I had such a thing."

"You could leave." Cosher stood barely a foot away, searching the other man's face. It was as impenetrable as ever. "And never come back."

James didn't even blink. "What do you have planned for Mr Goldsworth."

"He'll spill soon. And then he'll die. I was going to do so out of town, but I think I'll do it here. Those townsfolk are starved to see him dead."

"I wasn't aware you were a man of the people."

Cosher tilted his head aside, an eyebrow raised. "You're just dying to catch me out on something, aren't you?"

James gave him a long level look. "Does that frighten you?"

"You know what? It does a little." He strolled towards the door, giving him a sidelong look at he passed. "I have a feeling being at the centre of your attention isn't the safest place to be."

* * *

The demon dog was still roped up out the front. For the first few nights it had howled incessantly, loud enough to wake the whole town. It had snapped at anyone trying to feed it, or pet it, or walk within five feet of it. It had taken four officers to get the fabric wrapped tight around its snout. Now it just lay on its side, slumped. Cosher gave it a nudge with his foot, just to make sure it was still alive. Its brown eyes watched him sidelong, a low rumbling growl coming from its bound mouth. It didn't like him. The nuns threw him scraps every now and then, which he just about managed to fit in his mouth. He was still one of God's creatures, the nuns insisted. Cosher didn't care.

He went straight through the halls to the cells. He'd been looking forward to playing these two off each other. It was the most effective torture, in the end. 

He stood between their cells, the candlelight making his face deceivingly jovial. Ricky moved towards him, his gaze burning. He moved stiffly, one hand resting on his bruised ribs. The blood on his face had dried. His eyes hadn't. He sniffed, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. Tinsley stayed away, sat on the floor, one leg propped and the other out, picking at his tie. He was picking it threadbare, his eyes not leaving Cosher. The chief looked between them. There was nothing quite like being subjected to those two stares; it was like being set on fire and doused in ice water simultaneously. One had an anger so hot it hurt to even see it in the man’s eyes. The other had an anger that was cold enough to rival the Arctic. It was no wonder they destroyed each other so rapidly. Cosher smiled.

“Enjoying the company, Mr Goldsworth? Hopefully he’ll be here a bit longer than Miss Horsley was.”

Ricky didn’t respond. He just lingered at the bars, almost frothing at the mouth with rage. Tinsley picked and picked at his tie. The wax from the candle dripped to the floor steadily. It echoed.

“And what about you, detective?” Cosher inclined his head, thoughtful. “Although I suppose it’s just Mr Tinsley now, isn’t it?”

Tinsley gritted his teeth, but he stayed silent. His hands shook where he picked apart his tie. The threads floated to the stone around him. Cosher kept smiling, an unpleasant grin.

“Thought you might get a kick out of each other. Maybe talk over some of your issues.”

Tinsley’s gaze turned to Ricky, where the man was pressed to the bars, as close as he could get to the chief. His hands gripped the iron. Tinsley lowered his gaze.

"Thought I'd come by to see if either of you are ready to talk. Or if you need a bit more encouragement. You want a lawyer or anything?"

Tinsley gave Cosher a sidelong look. The chief was enjoying this, enjoying it more than Tinsley himself had been. He looked back at Ricky, swallowing quietly. Cosher looked at Ricky too.

"C'mon, dollface. Speak up. Use your words."

Ricky made his way closer to him, slowly. He took hold of the bars; his fingers were dirty, bloodied. He looked at Cosher, looked right up into his eyes. Then he spat at him. It hit him in the face. Cosher let out a disgusted sound, and by the time it was out Ricky was back across the cell, well out of reach. Tinsley almost smiled. Almost.

"Little animal," muttered Cosher, wiping the spit off him with the back of his hand. "Christ."

Tinsley didn't say anything, but underneath, he was just a tad relieved. Ricky was still Ricky. He wasn't crushed yet, but it wouldn't be long. He spoke quickly, seeing the anger flaring in the chief.

“Could I have a box of cigarettes?”

Cosher was still occupied with scrubbing at his face with his sleeve. “Yeah, sure. And what about you, sweetcheeks? Do you have any special requests?”

Ricky stayed pressed against the far wall like a beat dog. “Wine.”

“Wine and cigarettes. You two setting up a little date?” He nodded at the source of light between them. “Lovely candlelit evening together?”

Tinsley scoffed. “You’re hilarious.”

“Not quite as hilarious as you, but I try.”

Ricky rested against the wall, arms folded. “Neither of you are going to be very funny when I cut your tongues out.”

“We’ll still be funnier than you, dollface,” said Tinsley wryly, giving him a sidelong look.

Ricky tutted at the nickname, looking at the chief. “Dollface. Sweetcheeks. Pretty boy. Almost seems as if someone has a bit of a crush.”

Cosher shook his head. “Nah, I don’t swing in that direction.”

“Are you sure?” Ricky smiled, giving him a sultry look from behind the bars as he moved slowly towards him. “Maybe you won’t know until you try it.”

Tinsley raised his gaze at this interaction, his eyes narrowing. “Really, Ricky? You’re trying to whore your way out of jail?”

“It’s worked every other time in my life.” Ricky looked the chief over, letting one hand run down a bar, softly. “And if you think I’m wild in here, wait until you see me under the sheets.”

Cosher spared a laugh. “Believe me, if I was interested, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I have a wife and kids, and a happy home to return to. Nice try, though.” He looked at Tinsley. “I can see why you crumbled.”

Tinsley turned his head away, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe he wouldn’t have crumbled if he’d had the wife and kids and the happy home. He closed his eyes. Cosher left. He returned with a box of cigarettes and a bottle of wine. He tossed the bottle lightly in his hand.

“Probably won’t be the fancy swill you’re used to, but I’m sure it’ll do.”

Ricky took the cork from the bottle with his teeth, dropping it aside. Then he slipped the neck of the bottle into his mouth, drawing it out slow between his lips, looking Cosher up and down as he did so with blatant mischief. The chief laughed, shaking his head.

“Well aren’t you a character.” He chucked the box of cigarettes into Tinsley’s cell, and a box of matches with it. It wasn’t touched. “Oh look, he’s sulky.”

Tinsley tutted, ignoring the jibe. He got to his feet and walked over to the cigarettes and snatched them up before going back to his corner and plonking himself back down again. Cosher raised a bushy brow at the attitude.

"I thought you'd cooperate, Mr Tinsley. Not interested?"

"No."

"Hm." He moved to the front of Tinsley's cell, arms folded. "And how would I convince you to talk."

"You can't." He struck a match, watching it get chewed up by the flame. He waited until it burned his fingers before he chucked it aside. "I'm fine to sit here until I rot, thanks. Did it before, I'll do it again."

"You know, I liked you, Tinsley. Still do." He nodded sideways at Ricky. "But he doesn't."

Tinsley raised his gaze at this, looking at him. He threw Ricky a sidelong glance. The man had moved to the bars between his and Tinsley's cells, his fingers hooked around the iron. He showed his teeth, not exactly in a smile. Cosher raised his eyebrows.

"What if I let him at you for a few minutes, hm? I'd say you'd be willing enough to talk then."

Tinsley didn't take his eyes off Ricky, but he only spoke to Cosher. "I don't think that would be necessary."

"Probably not. But might do it anyway." Cosher looked at the third man, speaking lightly. "Would you like that, Mr Goldsworth?"

Ricky nodded. He stayed silent. Cosher seemed to ponder it for a moment, his gaze raised. Tinsley waited, frozen in place. He couldn't take his eyes from Ricky's, as if to deter an attack. It applied to mountain lions, if he remembered correctly. Maybe it would apply to Ricky. Cosher watched them with an amused smile. Then he sighed heavily.

"Not today, Mr Goldsworth. Maybe if you confess to your crimes, I'll let you have him."

Ricky closed his eyes, letting out a sharp breath. He didn't reply. Tinsley closed his eyes too, relieved. Cosher laughed, an unpleasant sound. Then he left. The door shut behind him, loud. Then nothing. Tinsley watched the other man pick up the wine and take a long hard drink. He gritted his teeth.

"You are such a little whore." Tinsley lit a cigarette behind a cupped hand. It illuminated his sharp face. "You really are."

"I thought you liked that." Ricky swallowed another mouthful of wine, throwing him a sidelong look. "Or maybe you just liked me being  _your_ whore."

"Right."

"I don't mind." Ricky smiled, a slow curve at the side of his mouth. "You were the best of them in bed, I have to admit."

Tinsley didn't reply. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground, smoking slowly, watching the grey cloud melt into the air like ink in water.

"I don't know why you're acting so stuck-up about it," said Ricky airily. "You don't have to be embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed."

"And you have nothing to be shy about."

"I'm not shy."

Ricky narrowed an eye. "You were a little, at the start."

"That wasn't me being shy. That was me being smart." He was basically eating the cigarette now. "I miss that; being smart. The second you took off your clothes I went brain-dead, every time."

"I prefer you brain-dead."

"I'm not surprised."

"Well look at what happens when you start thinking you're smart," said Ricky with just a hint of bitterness. "Doesn't work out too well for anyone involved, does it."

"Maybe if you were able to keep your clothes on for more than five minutes, I-"

"It almost sounds like you want me to take off my clothes. Is that it? Because you could just ask."

Tinsley shook his head with a dry laugh. "No, I've had enough of you. Your body included."

Ricky pursed his lips at this, looking a tad miffed. "Sure."

Tinsley eyed him sidelong, flicking his cigarette butt aside. "Give me some of that."

"Give me a smoke."

"Fine."

Tinsley hesitantly moved over to the bars, opening the box of cigarettes and pushing one out with his thumb. Ricky took it and placed it between his lips, keeping hold of the bars for balance as he leaned forwards expectantly. Tinsley struck a match, holding it out for him. Ricky watched the flame as he placed the end of his cigarette in it. Tinsley watched his face as he did so. One eye was blackened, a bit swollen, and the left side of his bottom lip was busted, scabbed over. Tinsley looked back up at his eyes, and the eyes were looking right back. Ricky took the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling the smoke slowly out his nose.

"You look a bit guilty."

Tinsley shook his head. "I'm not."

"Is it because I'm not such a pretty boy anymore."

"That nickname really went to your head, didn't it."

Ricky rested his head against one of the bars, his gaze absent-mindedly trailing over the taller man's face. He took another drag on his cigarette. "And what about _your_ nickname. Moose. What's that about."

Tinsley shrugged. "Height. Size. I don't know."

"He didn't have _you_ in the bedroom, did he?" grinned Ricky, looking up at him with just his eyes. "That would give anyone reason to call you moose."

"You're not funny."

"I'm actually a little bit horny, to tell the truth," said Ricky flippantly, folding his arms around the bars. "It's been _days_. How do people survive for days without sex?"

"Easier than they'd survive a night with you."

"You survived many a night."

"Mm." Tinsley looked down at him from under his lashes. "By the skin of my teeth."

"Wouldn't be a bad way to go, would it?" He smiled at him with surprising demureness. One hand drifted up to the collar of his shirt, beginning to draw the fabric aside. "Under me."

Tinsley watched him with quiet eyes. "What are you doing."

"Nothing."

"I don't know why you're bothering," muttered Tinsley, his gaze lowered to watch the buttons being undone. "Can't really do anything, can we."

Ricky smiled. "You can fit a hand through these bars, can't you?" 

Tinsley didn't think twice about it. He let a hand slip through the bars, going for his belt, and he noticed the sudden change in Ricky's eyes at the last second. He whipped his hand back, but not fast enough. Ricky caught his wrist and yanked him forwards against the bars hard, Tinsley's face dashing off them, hard enough to blind him for a few seconds. Ricky turned, pinning Tinsley's arm under his before grabbing hold of his middle finger.

"Ricky, don't, don't, _don't_ \- AAAAH!" Tinsley fell against the bars, the pain shooting up through his elbow. "AAH, GET OFF, GET- HELP!"

The officer on duty rushed into the cells, followed closely by Cosher. He went to Ricky's cell, opening the door as quickly as he could, listening to Tinsley's cries. The cell door rattled open, and Ricky immediately changed targets. He threw himself at Cosher, the two of them falling against the cell opposite before tumbling to the ground. Tinsley watched through tear-filled eyes as Ricky was swiftly subdued again, dragged back into the cell, snarling and snapping. This time he was cuffed to the bars, as far away from Tinsley as possible. Cosher shook his head half in awe, locking the cell up again. He looked at Tinsley with wide eyes.

"How did you survive this maniac?"

Tinsley just shook his head, his hand clamped against his ribs. He was let out and the doctor was called for his broken finger. Ricky was left in the dark, laughing to himself.

* * *

For the first time in fifty or so years, James cursed. Someone was knocking on the kitchen door without a break, loud, unwilling to be ignored. He left his wine and strode over to the door and yanked it open. Then he went still. He didn't quite know how to feel at first, but he quickly settled on angry. He didn't step aside to let her in.

"You have a lot of nerve coming back here."

She drew the hood down off her head, looking up at him with large eyes. "I didn't know any of this would happen. I didn't. I just thought he'd take Ricky and that would be it-"

"Well you were wrong," he interrupted, still refusing to let her in. "Do you understand what you've done. Do you understand what you've done to the family that looked after you all these years."

"You can't defend him. Not after what he did." She swallowed hard, hugging her coat around her. "But I'm- I'm so sorry about Holly. I didn't believe it at first. Cosher told me he'd only take Ricky, and-"

"He has Tinsley now too, you know."

"I know. I know. That's why I'm here." She shuffled forwards a step, as if to come inside. It was ignored. "I'm going to free him. He doesn't deserve to be in there."

James stared at her in silence. "If you knew what he's done, you would change your mind." Another silence with barbs on it. "Ricky trusted you. Out of everyone in this world, he trusted only you. And you betrayed him."

Francesca pressed her lips in a line. "If you're not going to let me in, just say so. I'll find somewhere else to lay low for the night."

He mulled it over. Then he stepped aside, mentally sighing at his own weak will. She took off her coat as she came inside, handing it over to him.

"Just let me get into a suit, ma'am," said the Mayor.


	11. Condemned

The candle wax dripped to the stone floor. It was the only sound in the world. Neither of them spoke. Ricky hadn't moved in hours, not that he could move far anyway. He sat back against the bars, his arms above his head and his chin resting on his chest. His lids were heavy as he stared at the floor in front of him.

Every few minutes he saw Tinsley shift slightly, try to get more comfortable. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with a dangerous amount of thought in his eyes. His hands rested on his stomach. His broken finger had been bound to his index one, and that had been that. It still hurt, but it wasn't annoying him. Not as much as his own stupidity was. He continued scowling at the ceiling, moving his shoulders again, the stone digging into him. He closed his eyes, sitting upright, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran his unbroken fingers through his hair, sighing sharply. He retrieved a cigarette from the rapidly dwindling box, striking a fresh match, lighting it. Then he lay back down to continue staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all his problems, if he could only figure them out.

"Did you really love me."

Ricky lifted his head, albeit slowly. His voice was croaky. "What?"

"You said you loved me." He exhaled a mouthful of smoke into the air. "Did you mean it."

Ricky rested his head back against the bars. His shoulders ached. "What answer are you hoping for."

"I don't know."

"Well coincidentally enough, that's my answer too."

Tinsley didn't react. He lay where he was, pointy nose pointed at the ceiling. "Okay."

Ricky readjusted his seating; the stone was making him entirely numb. "Do you ever wonder what would've happened if I'd said yes to running away with you."

Tinsley didn't reply for a moment. "No. Because you didn't, so."

"And did _you_ actually mean that?"

"A little." Tinsley paused to take a drag, hands free. Then he took the cigarette from his mouth again, letting the smoke curl into the air. "Why? Do you think about what would've happened?"

"Yes."

"And do you regret saying no?"

"No."

"Alright." Tinsley swallowed, hiding the gesture. "I think we could've been very happy together, Ricky. If you hadn't been such a stuck-up little brat."

"Life isn't a fairytale, Tinsley. You can't just wander in and take a fancy to me and sweep me away from here like some Prince Charming." He snorted. "The audacity."

"You could've avoided everything. You could've avoided all of this."

"And be doing what instead? Living in a cottage hidden away from the world?" He scoffed. "I'm not made for that lifestyle, Tinsley. I would've gone loopy in days."

"You went loopy anyway."

"I'm not-"

"You're cracked," said Tinsley clearly. "An absolute nutjob."

"I'm not crazy," said Ricky through gritted teeth.

Tinsley propped himself on an elbow, his brows raised in genuine disbelief. "You're really in denial, aren't you."

"I'm not crazy."

"You're just like your dad. Totally loopy."

Ricky didn't reply. He tried to swallow his tears subtly, but he choked. "Shut up."

"I don't know why I stuck it out with you for as long as I did."

"Because you're weak," snapped Ricky, his eyes glistening with unspilled tears. "You're weak and you're stupid. It's not a mystery."

"I wish they'd poisoned you," said Tinsley. "I wish they'd gotten away with it."

"Well I wish you'd been burned to a crisp with all the rest."

"No you don't."

"I do."

"You couldn't do it." His voice was quiet. "You had the chance. You dragged me up those steps and you put a knife to my throat and you couldn't do it." The silence lingered. "Why."

Ricky lowered his gaze, lips pressed in a line that made it clear he wasn't going to reply. Tinsley tutted, lying back down on the stone.

"Pleading the Fifth, are you."

"Can you just please shut up," said Ricky, tired. "Please."

"It just piqued my curiosity, Ricky. I'm still a detective at heart." He took another drag on his cigarette, blowing it in rhythmic puffs at the ceiling. "Just seemed as if you cared for me a little. Or is that just preposterous."

Ricky stared at the man's unmistakable profile. It was an intelligent one. His hair had greyed at the temples, in the way that made ladies swoon. Ricky had seen a few in his own hair, sprinkled silver threads in the blackness. He was too young. They were both too young.

"I was going to do it," he said, not quite a whisper. "I dreamed of it some nights. But the thought of not having you in my life was… unexpectedly hard to deal with." He saw Tinsley sit upright, his head half-turned towards him. "I wasn't done with you. I don't know if that makes sense. I don't think we were done with each other."

Tinsley didn't look at him. He looked at the space beside him on the stone floor. "Do you believe in fate."

Ricky eyed him suspiciously. "Do you?"

"I didn't. But I can't help but feel I came here for a reason." He chewed on his lip for a moment. "I don't know what the reason is yet, but I think I'll know it when it happens."

"I thought you were more of a logical man."

"I was. Doesn't get me very far around here."

Ricky stared at him for a long while, the candle crackling between their cells. "I feel like you're bad luck. You just are."

Tinsley shrugged at this. He couldn't really deny it. "So you think if I hadn't arrived, you'd be thriving? You'd be happy?"

"I wouldn't be in jail."

"Can't say that for definite."

Ricky rolled his eyes, sitting up more firmly against the bars. The cuffs scraped off the iron. "I wasn't born to be happy. And neither were you. And I think it's a damn tragedy that we even found each other in the first place."

"Yeah."

"I can't remember ever not being angry," said Ricky, wondering why he was even revealing this to the other man. It was private. It was personal. "I think I was born with it. I think I was born with someone else's anger." He went quiet. "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"No."

"Possession?"

"No."

"I do. I- I don't think I'm me." He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, distant. "I don't think I was born the person I was supposed to be. I mean… My father died the night I was born. In the room next to me."

Tinsley arched a dubious eyebrow at this train of thought. "You think his ghost possessed you."

"I feel like he's always been with me. Him and my grandfather. I think I'm cursed."

"They are always with you. It's called DNA. Genetics."

Ricky tutted. "Why do I even bother."

"I don't know."

They lapsed back into silence. Tinsley lay back down on the stone floor, watching the stone ceiling pensively. After a few minutes of this they heard footsteps approaching. They were loud and demanding. Cosher strode into the cells, rubbing his hands together with glee.

"Well, boys. How are you on this fine morn."

"Morn?" Tinsley rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. "You can't be serious. It feels like midnight."

"Nope. It's a lovely bright day and the sun is splitting the rocks, so it is."

"Well to answer your question," said Tinsley dryly. "I'm feeling sick and tired of this cell. And the only person I have to talk to is trying to convince me he's possessed."

"Shut up," said Ricky, narrowing his eyes at him. "I'm not."

Cosher's eyes had brightened at this. He moved to stand at the bars to Ricky's cell, hands on his hips. "You believe in God, Mr Goldsworth?"

"I suppose," came the muttered reply. 

"Interesting," said Cosher, giving his chin a thoughtful rub between his index finger and thumb. "And what has you believing you're possessed?"

"I don't believe I'm possessed," said Ricky, throwing a sharp glare at him. "You're twisting my words."

"His crazed father died the same night he was born," said Tinsley, still lying on his back with his hands behind his head. His legs were crossed and one foot bopped to a silent rhythm. "Thinks his ghost got him."

"You're twisting my words!" Ricky sat more upright, scowling at the man in the other cell. "You're a real prick, Tinsley."

Cosher hummed at this interaction, the cogs whirring away behind his eyes. "And you're still not willing to confess to your crimes, no, Mr Goldsworth?"

"Bite me," was the reply. 

"Very well." His voice was slow and pensive. He turned on his heel and left.

He returned some time later, and with three good friends. The nuns lined up outside the cell, staring in at him with wise faces. Tinsley sat upright, an eyebrow arched. Ricky was watching them sidelong.

"Well? How do you go about this thing?" Cosher folded his arms, leaning against the bars as he spoke only to the nuns. 

"Well, first we must examine him," said Bernadette almost dreamily as she stared through the bars. "Possession can be clear in certain physical terms."

Ricky's brows drew together. "What in the hell are you talking about."

"He's already expressed concerns about possession," said Cosher, his tone neutral, his intentions not so much. "Do what you can, sisters."

He opened the cell for them, and Bernadette led the way towards where Ricky was bound. He tried to push himself away from her, tilting his head aside as she knelt down beside him. She went to take hold of his jaw. She let out a shriek, whipping her hand away as Ricky snapped his teeth at the offending fingers.

"My word," said Jude, clutching at the gold cross around her neck. "Inhumane."

Ricky scowled at her. "I'm not possessed! This is ridiculous."

"Of course you'd say that."

Bernadette leaned forwards a tad, looking into his eyes. He looked right back, unblinking. She eventually spoke.

"Black, all the way through."

Jude and Bel nodded in unison. Tinsley watched in bafflement, seeing his expression mirrored on Ricky's face. He turned his gaze to Cosher, who was examining his nails with cool contemplation. _You sly son of a bitch_. Cosher threw him a wink.

"My eyes are brown," said Ricky, still glaring at the nuns. "Just very dark. They're not black. It's the light."

"Check his teeth," said Jude.

"No, no, get- get off." Ricky shook his head vigorously, pulling away from Bernadette's hands. "Get off! I said get off!"

He kicked out, sending Bernadette sprawling, the three of them gasping in shock. Tinsley shook his head at the other man's foolishness. He wasn't helping himself in any regard. Cosher came into the cell, simply taking a fistful of Ricky's hair and forcing his head back against the bars, taking a tight hold of his jaw in his other hand and pulling it open. Ricky snarled at him, his eyes flashing with hate. Bernadette returned, more cautiously now. She peered into Ricky's mouth.

"No, his teeth are fine."

Cosher frowned at this. "You sure? Take another look."

"Yes, I'm sure. Possession results in a rapid decaying of teeth." Bernadette shrugged. "His teeth are fine."

Cosher tutted, letting go of Ricky and straightening up. "Fine. What else can you check."

"He is verbally and physically abusive," said Bel with a firm nod. "And he is prone to excessive violence. That is a mark."

"It's not enough," said Jude wispily. "There must-"

"His father died the night he was born," said Cosher, brows raised. "And the guy was a madman."

"Ah. I see." Bernadette looked back down at Ricky, who was staring back with narrowed eyes. "This man has a lot of anger in him, it's true."

"He also showed signs of polyglossia," said Cosher knowledgeably.

"What's that?" Ricky glared at them all nodding wisely, but he didn't get a response. "What's polyglossia? I don't-"

"It's using more than one language simultaneously," said Tinsley flatly. "His mother was Mexican. That's why he can speak Spanish. You're being ridiculous."

He was simply ignored. The nuns added it to their list. They added excessive use of profanities. They added aversion to sacred items. Ricky scoffed.

"You're kidding. I never-"

"You burned a church down, yes?" said Bel, looking down at him with raised brows. "That is a move Satan would be proud of."

"You can't prove that was me," said Ricky heatedly, pushing himself onto his knees. "What the hell are you doing here. What are you trying to do."

"Possession doesn't just happen." Bernadette turned her back on Ricky, standing in a small circle with the other two nuns and Cosher. "It must have been invited into him. If it was his father that was demonic, then he is likely to have demonic blood in his veins."

"Is this some sort of joke?" Tinsley stood at the bars of his own cell, his brows drawn together in a bewildered frown. "Are you joking? I mean, you can't possibly be serious."

"Demonic possession is very serious," said Jude, not sparing him a glance. "But being born of demonic blood is even more so. He can't be cured."

This seemed to be what Cosher was waiting for. He smiled pitifully. "Ah. Shame. Thanks for your wisdom, sisters. Praise the Lord."

"I'm not possessed," said Ricky loudly, watching the three nuns file back out. Their job was done, their part was played. "I'm not possessed! I'm not fucking possessed!"

Cosher crouched down in front of him, elbows on his knees and fingers lightly linked. He smiled. "You're going to die tonight, Mr Goldsworth. It's the Lord's will."

Ricky stared at him with wide eyes. "No. No, you can't do that. You can't- You can't-"

"I can. And I will." Cosher left the cell, locking it behind him and twirling the ring of keys around a finger. "Enjoy your last few hours together, boys."

"Are you fucking kidding me." Tinsley met him at the front of his cell, glaring at him through the bars. "This is pathetic. You're embarrassing yourself."

"He deserves to die, Tinsley." He shrugged, as if he simply couldn't help the scenario at hand. "I offered him a fair way out; confess and be sentenced. He refused. So he's done this to himself." He paused, gaze raising up and aside as as he thought. "Or perhaps you did it to him. You gave me the idea, after all."

He left with a skip to his step. Tinsley stood at the bars for a long while, gaze unblinking. Eventually he slid to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Ricky's voice was hollow.

"I hope you're proud. I hope you're proud of what you've done."

"I'm not." Tinsley spoke, voice muffled by his hands. "I'm not proud. I fucked up."

"You got Holly killed. You got me killed. And you got yourself sentenced in the process, you absolute idiot."

"I know. I know."

"You were just so caught up with trying to give me a taste of my own medicine," said Ricky icily. "I told you a long time ago, you don't have the guts. And you don't. Look at you."

Tinsley kept his watery eyes hidden behind his hands. He sniffed loudly. "I thought I did."

"I'll never forgive you," he spat. "Never."

Tinsley ducked his head, raking his hands through his hair. He didn't respond. They sat in heavy silence, thick and cold. After a while the candle sputtered out and plunged them into darkness.

* * *

The Mayor parked the car across the road from the station. It was a quiet night. Every night was a quiet night since Ricky was gone. He leaned forwards, peering out of the windshield at the gallows. He felt the sadness clog his throat at the thought of Holly up there, alone. He hadn't been there for her, as he had been all his life. He sighed to himself. His eyes found the church down the street. It was being rebuilt, a wooden structure this time, and considerably smaller. _More modest_ , said the nuns. _God does not encourage excessive wealth_. Or was it Cosher who discouraged excessive wealth? He couldn't quite remember.

He got out of the car and crossed the road towards the station. He saw a cop vanish inside at the sight of him before reappearing with the chief. Cosher narrowed his eyes at him, staying on the top step.

"What's brought the enigma himself down here, hm?"

"I've come for the dog." The Mayor nodded towards Diablo. "You can't keep him chained up like that forever. I'd like to take him home."

"Ricky is under arrest," said Cosher with a nasty grin.

The Mayor gave him a flat look. "That isn't one of your better jokes, I'm afraid."

Cosher raised an eyebrow, hands on his hips. "Will the dog even let you take it?"

"Yes." The Mayor moved towards Diablo, who sat upright as he came closer. "Dogs are smart. They know when someone is their friend and when someone is their enemy."

A small crowd had begun to gather, if only to look at the Mayor with curious eyes. He hadn't walked around the town in thirty-odd years. Some still remembered him from the night he had killed the former Mr Goldsworth. They'd all seen it. They'd respected him for it. Only a brave man would do such a thing.

"Go on then." Cosher nodded at Diablo, who attempted to bare his teeth. "Take the mutt. But if you even think of letting that leash slip out of your hands I'll empty this pistol into you. _Capice_?"

The Mayor simply nodded before going to the dog. He wasn't going to set him on Cosher. He had a different person in mind to carry that out. So he untied Diablo and pulled him growling away from Cosher and towards the car. He put him in the passenger seat, where Fran had been until two streets back. He unwound the fabric from around his snout. Diablo wiggled his nose and gave himself a shake before sitting down and letting out a sigh. He was tired. So was the Mayor. They went home.

* * *

Footsteps approached. They were light and quiet and much too dainty to be Cosher's. The door opened. A figure slipped in. Tinsley and Ricky raised their heads, trying to see who it was. They were short and dressed all in black.

"Tinsley?"

His heart soared. "Fran. Fran, I'm here!"

"Fran?" Ricky pushed himself to his knees, eyes narrowed through the dark. He could hear keys rattling. "Is it really you?"

She didn't respond to him. The keys were loud as she tried one after the other in the lock to Tinsley's cell. There was a dull click. She pushed the door aside slowly so as not to make the metal scrape. Tinsley slipped out instantly, breathing heavily, as if the air outside was fresher than inside. Her voice was hushed.

"I'm not staying," she said, moving towards the exit. "I-"

"What?" Ricky's voice was painfully innocent. "What about me?"

There was a pause. "I can't, Ricky. Not after what you did."

"What?" Even in the dark, his eyes could be seen glistening with tears. "Don't leave me here. Fran. Please. Come on." He swallowed hard. "You're my friend. You're the only friend I have."

She stared at his silhouette, her hands gripping the keys. She told herself she wouldn't. She promised herself she wouldn't. She looked up at Tinsley, who was staring at Ricky too. She shoved the keys at him.

"You do whatever you want, but I'm not going to let him loose on this town again."

Then she was gone, as suddenly as she came. Tinsley stood with the keys in hand, his eyes stuck to the floor in front of him. He could hear Ricky breathing shakily, or maybe it was his own breaths he was hearing. He looked over his shoulder at the door. He moved towards it.

"Tinsley. Tinsley!" Ricky was on his knees, his arms to the side where they were still bound. "Don't leave me here. Don't."

Tinsley paused, holding the ring of keys in his fist. "I don't see why I shouldn't."

"If you leave me here, this is where I'll die," said Ricky, swallowing. "No one will come for me. No one."

Tinsley hesitated at the crack in the other man's voice. He didn't move towards him, but he didn't move away either. His grip tightened and loosened again on the keys. Ricky stared at him with wide eyes, pleading. He was entirely disheveled, the most pitiful Tinsley had ever seen him. His hair was a tousled mess and his stubble had begun to show as a beard. Tinsley took a single step away.

"Tinsley please!" He shuffled towards him on his knees, the cuffs scraping the bar that were connected to. "Please. I won't hurt you. I won't. You know I won't. You know I can't."

Tinsley swallowed hard, the keys rattling as his hands shook. He held them in both hands in an attempt to keep them still. "I don't trust you."

"Tinsley please." He was openly begging, unashamed. His voice shook with tears. "Please, just let me out of here. I'll die in here. I don't have anyone, just you. All I have is you, Tinsley. Just you in this entire world."

Tinsley clenched his teeth so hard it hurt. He looked over his shoulder at him again, wringing the keys in his hands. It agitated his finger. He stared at his hand, at the two fingers taped together. _Don't_ , he told himself. _Don't_.

"Tinsley I'm begging you." He paused to sniff, a wet sound. "Please. I won't hurt you. I still love you. I do."

Tinsley closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, exhaling it unsteadily. Then he turned around, going to Ricky's cell. He found the right key and opened it. He went over to Ricky, standing over him for a moment before crouching down and sorting through the smaller keys on the ring. He tried a few in the cuffs. The last one worked. The cuffs fell to the stone floor, metal hitting off stone. There was a lingering silence as they both straightened back up again, Ricky more stiffly, his back aching. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, wiped at his teary eyes. Then he stepped forwards and wrapped his arms around Tinsley's waist, burying his face in his chest. Tinsley hugged him back, a hand on the back of the man's head, running his fingers through his dark hair. He could feel him crying, feel the front of his shirt turning damp with tears. The words were muffled.

"You're all I have. You're all I have left." Ricky's fingers dug into his back, desperate. "I love you."

Tinsley swallowed hard, eyes closed. He'd never felt so condemned in his life. He cupped Ricky's face in one hand, a thumb brushing away a single tear. "Let's get you home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i suppose the title of this chapter/the idea behind ricky & tinsley's relationship in this fic is pretty much the song Heavy in your Arms by Florence and the Machine https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SK6U4FiAoAs
> 
> esp that lyrics at the end  
>  _"This will be my last confession,_  
>  _'I love you' never felt like any blessing._  
>  _Whisper it like it's a secret,_  
>  _Utter to condemn the one who hears it_  
>  _With a heavy heart."_


	12. Open Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next few chapters will be up in pretty quick succession, i believe. thank u for ur patience as i drank an inhumane amount of cider in a tent over the weekend. also had copious amounts of korean bbq. oh what a life

The Mayor opened up the door, and he couldn’t help but smile just a tad. “Good evening, sir.”

Ricky stormed past him before he’d even finished the greeting, just snapping an order to shut the gates. His footsteps raced across the hall and pounded up the stairs. They heard his bedroom door slam. Tinsley lingered in the doorway, throwing a look back over his shoulder at Ricky's car. The gravel was churned under its wheels in lines from it quite literally skidding to a halt. The Mayor watched the side of his pensive face that he could see. He spoke quietly.

"You could leave. You could get as far away as you can."

Tinsley shook his head. He didn't elaborate on his response. He just stepped into the manor and crossed the hall and the door shut heavy behind him. The house was awfully empty. The dining room still had some of Holly's personalia laid out on it, neat. He went upstairs, a hand drifting along the smooth banister. He could hear running water, splashing furiously. He followed the sound, into Ricky's room, into the bathroom. Ricky was in the shower, washing suds out of his hair, wiping his hands down his face. He rarely showered; he was more inclined to bath. He only showered when he was in a rush. When there was something urgent on his mind. Tinsley watched him in silence for a few minutes. Then he undressed, getting in with him, and he couldn't tell the heat of the water apart from the heat of Ricky's skin.

Ricky dried himself and threw on his robe and he shaved and he cleaned his fingernails and he ate the food the Mayor brought and he stood on the balcony to let his hair dry. He smoked a cigarette or two as he watched the town. There was no movement around the station. Cosher would leave them alone for hours at a time. He probably wouldn't notice they were missing for another few hours. And when he did notice, he'd come looking. And then Ricky would take him apart bit by bit.

"Ricky."

He raised his head at the voice, looking over his shoulder at the owner. "Mm?"

Tinsley stood buttoning up his shirt with gentle fingers. The tape was still present around his broken one. "What are you thinking about."

Ricky looked at him for a moment, his big eyes surprisingly soft. He moved over to him and he pushed up on his tiptoes and he kissed him lightly on the lips. "That I love you."

Tinsley closed his eyes as he felt the man's mouth run softly down the side of his neck, down between his open shirt collar. "Is that the truth."

"It's the only truth I know," said Ricky, his voice a whisper, his head resting against the taller man's chest. He could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. "You're the only thing I have left in this world, Tinsley. You're the only thing that matters to me."

Tinsley swallowed at this, his gaze lowered. "So what now."

Ricky looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. "I set us free. From everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything." He kissed him again, a soft one on his chest. "The world will be ours and ours alone."

He slipped out of his arms, their hands being the last things touching, and he went right out of the room. Tinsley went into the bathroom and picked up the razor and stared at himself in the mirror. He touched his beard, lightly. He put down the razor and picked up the small scissors and simply gave it a trim. He preferred himself with it. He looked like a different person than he used to be. When he was done he went back into the bedroom and Ricky was halfway dressed, in black trousers and a plain white shirt. Ricky was smiling brightly, like a child at Christmas. He skipped over to Tinsley and into his arms and he kissed him like they were lovers on their honeymoon. Tinsley could have melted. He broke off, breathless from the other man's passion.

"You seem happy."

"I am happy." He cupped his face and pushed up on his tiptoes to let their noses touch lightly. "I have you, and everything will be alright."

Then he was gone again, out of the room and into the corridor outside. The Mayor had relit the oil lamps. They were a welcome source of light and warmth. Tinsley poured himself a drink and stood on the balcony and looked at the town in the distance. There was a gaping wound where the church once was, but it was being rebuilt. The station was quiet. Tinsley checked the clock on the wall. It was almost half nine in the evening. Cosher would notice they were gone soon.

"Sir."

He spilled a bit of his drink in his surprise at the proximity of the voice. "Christ, Mayor. I'm fragile right now."

The Mayor seemed concerned. He was wringing his hands, hovering a few feet away. "I feel we should talk."

Tinsley stared at him sidelong. "What about."

The Mayor hovered for a moment, an activity he never quite engaged it. He was always present, but he never hovered. He moved to the door with soft steps and closed it over quietly. Then he moved back to Tinsley, his voice low and his gaze lowered with it.

"Mr Goldsworth just left some orders. For the guards, both from here and from out of town."

Tinsley waited, watching his face with open apprehension. "I- Is there more to that?"

"They're to take back the station," said the Mayor, still deathly quiet. "By any means necessary."

Tinsley relaxed a bit at this. "So they're going to kill Cosher and his cronies? I think I'm okay with that."

There was a silence, just a tad shocked.

"What those cops are trying to do is the right thing to do, detective. It pains me to admit it, but it's true."

Tinsley searched his cool blue eyes. "So you're fine with what Cosher did to Holly."

The Mayor straightened up at this with the beginnings of a glare on his face, the furthest a glare ever went with him. "Of course not. Cosher is in the wrong. But not the force. And not the townsfolk."

The silence returned, for a bit longer this time.

Tinsley poked at the truth with a question. "What about the townsfolk?"

"They're to be rounded up this evening. By Mr Goldsworth's orders." The Mayor spoke in a serious tone, unblinking as he waited for Tinsley to catch on. "I fear he is going to hurt them."

Tinsley lowered his gaze, his heart dropping into his stomach. He folded his arms, one hand raised so he could bite at his thumbnail. "He- He won't. They're innocents."

"They're not innocent to him. No one is. Everyone is either an ally or an enemy in his eyes." The Mayor stepped a bit closer, whispering. "We both know he'll hurt them. He's been humiliated, and he doesn't handle humiliation well. We both know that."

"He doesn't handle anything well," muttered Tinsley, still biting at his thumb. "Did he have anything specific planned?"

"Hang the nuns. Kill the force. Save Cosher for him. And no one is to leave or enter the town."

Tinsley felt a sudden spike of jealousy at this. _He_ wanted Cosher. He looked at the Mayor, and he'd just opened his mouth to speak when they heard engines just outside. Tinsley crossed to the balcony, watching as the cars filed out, various makes and styles but all filled with guards. He could smell the bloodlust from where he was. The gates were closed when they'd left. The silence was unnerving. Tinsley chewed on his lip and stared into the distance. After a few minutes of this, the Mayor muttered a few words in his ear.

"The top drawer."

Tinsley didn't move until he'd left. Then he crossed to the chest of drawers and yanked open the top one and rifled through the pajamas. He saw the glint of metal. Then he reached in and drew the gun back out. It was his gun, his Smith & Wesson. From before he'd been trapped in that cellar for days on end. He turned it over in his hands, his gaze trailing over it. He peered into the drawer again, seeing a patch of leather. He drew out the holster and slipped it on over his shoulders before fitting the gun into the holder under his arm. He stood for a moment before moving to the large dark wood wardrobe, drawing open the doors. He saw it instantly. He pulled his trench coat off the hanger and swung it on with the same flair as a cape. The curved edge of dark heavyweight cotton caught his eye, poking out at the bottom of the wardrobe. He crouched down and took the hat out and brushed it off. He turned it over in his hands. He straightened up and pushed it on over his unruly hair. Then he looked himself over in the mirror. He felt like he was looking at a stranger. After a few minutes he took off the coat and folded it over the back of a chair and rested the hat on top of it, carefully.

He left the bedroom, moving down towards the parlour. Ricky was laid out on the couch with a tattered book in hand, his other hand behind his head. He turned his head and smiled at Tinsley like a true darling. Tinsley didn't smile back.

"What are you going to do to those townsfolk?"

Ricky's smile fell flat. "The Mayor told you, hm? He's getting a bit brazen these days." He looked back at the book. "Too brazen for my liking."

"You didn't answer the question."

Ricky let his head roll back around to scowl at him, his book flopping onto his chest. "What's with the tone?"

Tinsley stood with his hands on his hips, watching him. "You're going to hurt them."

They lapsed into silence. Ricky's eyes were dark and serious as he sat upright, setting his book aside. He rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers loosely. Tinsley didn't move a muscle. Then Ricky said: "Yes."

Tinsley shot back instantly. "Why."

"Because they stood aside and laughed at me when I was dragged into that station." He rose to his feet, moving towards him. "I'm going to kill each and every person who smiled when those cuffs were put on me." He paused to let out a quiet breath. "I can remember their faces."

"Can you blame them?" muttered Tinsley.

"I can blame whoever the hell I want to blame." Ricky stopped in front of him, his fists clenched by his sides. "I can do whatever I want to do. Whenever I want to do it."

"So you've convinced yourself."

Ricky smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "You should be glad I've convinced myself of that. Because the only person to blame here is you. _You_ gave Cosher those files. _You_ essentially signed Holly's death sentence. I should take your lying tongue out of your mouth for doing that."

Tinsley watched him with a level gaze. "What are you going to do to Cosher."

Ricky searched his eyes. "What do you want me to do to him."

"I want him dead."

"I want him dead too, baby. I'm doing what I should've done before he'd even gotten the opportunity to lay a hand on either of us." Ricky took hold of his hands, looking up into his eyes with such a sweet smile it could've given anyone a toothache. "I'm going to kill him, slowly. I'm going to kill his men, quickly. I'm going to kill those nuns. And then we can be together."

Tinsley wasn't brushed aside so easily. "Specifics."

Ricky's smile faltered a bit. He took his hands from Tinsley's and moved back towards the couch. It was then Tinsley saw the black paws sticking out from the side of it. Diablo was deep in slumber, happy that his master was home where he belonged. Ricky crouched down beside him and gave his ear a scratch in order to wake him up. Diablo's tail thumped against the ground, steady.

"I have a plan for him," said Ricky, as if that was the end of the conversation.

"What plan."

Ricky looked over his shoulder at the sharpness of the question, echoed by Diablo's low growl. He straightened up, moving back over to Tinsley, resting his hands on his chest. "It doesn't matter."

"I want to know."

Ricky pushed up on his tiptoes, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. He murmured the words into his shoulder. "Do you want to come and watch."

Tinsley nodded, cupping the other man's face and tilting it back into the appropriate angle. "Yes."

He leaned in and kissed him, wrapping him up in his arms and drawing him close against his body. Ricky melted against him, his arms slipping around his neck, his face flushing. He maneuvered Tinsley back towards the couch, straddling him on it, their mouths still glued together, their breaths heavy and hands running free. Ricky broke off, whispering the words against his lips.

"I love you."

Tinsley looked right into his eyes, where they were inches away. They were endless, bottomless, black yet bright with a feverish glint. He guided him back into a kiss. It was safer than a lie.

* * *

It was almost dawn the next day when some of the guards reappeared at the manor to give the go-ahead. Ricky was out to the car in seconds, Diablo yapping at his heel. Tinsley followed just a tad more reluctant. The Mayor also insisted on accompanying them. He rarely partook in vengeance quests, but this one he couldn't quite deny himself of. He thought of Holly on the way down. He only thought of her. He allowed himself to feel angry. He hadn't felt the emotion in a while.

The station was littered with bloodied uniforms on bloodied bodies. The Mayor looked each one in the face as he moved through them. They were simply men following orders, he thought. Just like he was himself. He wondered why he always stood aside and let these things happen. That's all he'd ever done. He was always too late to react. He saw pale faces watching from houses across the street, dropping the curtains down instantly when they were looked at. He slowed at the gallows. They were an ugly structure, always had been. He looked up at the three grey-and-white clad figures hanging. For a moment, he felt bad. Then he pictured Holly up there. He didn't feel so bad anymore. He heard Tinsley.

"Why them."

Ricky replied with flippancy. "They thought I was a demon. At least they died being right."

The Mayor followed them onward. The bodies grew more numerous the closer they got to the steps. There had been no negotiation, no chance for peace. Just a bloodbath while none of them were expecting it. As unfair and dishonorable as Ricky always was. The Mayor watched Ricky hopping up the steps like a child to play, and even without seeing his face he knew there was a delighted smile on it. Tinsley was following him, not quite as enthusiastically. But he was still following. He was wearing his gun. The Mayor followed them after a few moments. He crossed the foyer of the station, down towards the cells. He paused in the doorway to them; they were dark and damp, and the only light was from a single candle. In the end, he decided against watching. All that mattered was that it happened. He turned on his heel and left.

Ricky watched Cosher through the bars. The chief was tied up to a chair, his arms to the chair's arms, his legs to the chair's legs. He was watching Ricky with wide unblinking eyes, his head fixed at an angle, face pale as a corpse. Ricky gave Diablo a pat beside him, feeling the rumbling from his growls.

"You made some enemies here, chief."

Cosher's reply was instant. "Good. If I had someone like you as an ally, I'd be ashamed of myself."

Ricky kept his cool. He watched him through the bars in an almost curious manner. "I told you my face would be the last thing you see before you die. Do you remember that."

"I remember you crying like a damn baby."

Tinsley watched Ricky's reaction from where he stood, arms folded as he leaned against the bars of the cell he used to be in. Ricky watched Cosher from under heavy lids, unimpressed, but remarkably still in control of himself. He curled his gloved fingers around the bars in front of him and drew the door aside. Metal scraped metal. Ricky stepped in, and Diablo followed close, licking his lips.

"You're feeling brave today, are you, chief."

Cosher shook his head, a stiff movement. "No, not brave. But I can die knowing I lived my life doing good."

"You didn't do good. And you're lying to yourself if you think that." Ricky looked down his nose at him as he spoke. "You enjoyed beating me. Humiliating me. Treating me like an animal in a damn zoo. That's not doing good, is it." He placed a finger under Cosher's chin, tilting his head back so that he was looking him in the eye. "But I understand. It makes you feel powerful, doesn't it. Having someone else be entirely at your mercy. There's nothing else quite like it."

Tinsley took a deep breath at this, letting it out slow. 

"I do things I enjoy all the time, chief." Ricky spoke lightly, almost casually. "I drink. I smoke. I hurt people. I kill who I want to kill. I fuck who I want to fuck. It makes me happy." He smiled, a small one. "Today, I'm happy."

Cosher turned his frightened eyes to Tinsley. "This guy's a damn maniac, Tinsley. You think you're gonna live happily ever after with him, do you?"

Tinsley shrugged, rolling an unlit cigarette around in his fingers. "Doesn't matter. You won't be around to find out."

"I helped you."

"You freed me and then you imprisoned me again," said Tinsley icily. "All I can thank you for is a change of scenery."

The chief laughed, a breathless one. "You're both insane. You're gonna be the death of each other, mark my words."

Ricky crouched down, giving Diablo a scratch under his chin. "You made me mad, chief. You made Tinsley mad. But you also made someone else mad."

Diablo's paws clicked as he moved across the stone, snuffling at Cosher's legs. Drool fell from his maw. Cosher stared at the dog with wide eyes, frozen. Ricky straightened up, buttoning his coat back up again. He looked at Cosher with calm eyes, the smallest of smiles on his face as Diablo propped his paws on the chief's knees and sniffed around his face.

"Attack."

Tinsley didn't look away from the scene. He heard the screaming and he heard the tearing and he saw the blood splatter the stone as Diablo ripped into the chief's throat, snarling wetly. The blood was black as oil in the candlelight. He moved closer to the bars, watching through them, fixated. He felt it. He felt a rush, a surge of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach as he watched his enemy being ripped apart. Ricky always spoke about it, about how good it felt to give people what they deserved. This time he felt it. Afterwards, he just felt concerned. 

He left before Ricky did. He hurried down the stairs outside the station, still feeling troubled beyond words. He ran a hand through his hair before hurriedly lighting a cigarette, puffing at it with worry. He looked at the three nuns, at their bodies hanging silhouetted in the early morning sky. He stopped a guard.

"Cut them down."

The guard shook his head. "No can do. Boss said to leave them up."

"I'm saying to cut them down," said Tinsley sharp enough to draw blood. "And take down the gallows entirely. It's a damn eyesore."

The guard stared at him for a moment. Then he just nodded before continuing on. Tinsley headed for the car, seeing the Mayor standing beside it neat and still as a chess piece. They were all chess pieces. The Mayor was a rook, moving in straight lines only, sure about what he was doing. Ricky was more akin to a queen piece than a king, moving wherever he wanted as much as he wanted. Tinsley felt like the king piece. Useless at the end of the day, even more useless than a pawn. He didn't like this feeling. He finished his cigarette in record time. He perched himself on the bonnet, long legs crossed in front of him as he stared at the cobblestones. The Mayor probed the silence.

"Sir?"

Tinsley looked at him, face unreadable. "Why did you tell me where my gun was."

The Mayor lowered his gaze, but kept his head high. "I hoped you would figure that out for yourself, sir."

"Well I'd like my train of thought to be confirmed."

After a few minutes of quiet, the Mayor spoke. "I was never told to wear a butler's garb, you know. It's not a necessity. But I wear it nonetheless, because it reminds me of who I am. Of what my place is here. We all have a place." He finally met Tinsley's gaze again. "We all kept something. Holly kept a silver ring her mother had given her, just so she wouldn't forget herself. It's easy to forget who you are around here. It's easy to lose your humanity. I just hope it's not too late for you."

Tinsley didn't respond. Then he nodded. "I thought as much." He didn't elaborate.

They waited until Ricky came skipping out of the station and down the steps, smiling brightly at the two of them. He waved the Mayor away before turning to Tinsley and pulling him down by his tie to kiss him hard. He broke away, still smiling.

"I want you to be the new chief."

Tinsley blinked at this. "What?"

" _You_ can be the new chief. You should have been a long time ago." He held onto his arms, smiling with the same excitement as a child at Christmas. "You can stay here forever. With me. We can be together."

Tinsley didn't react straight away. "Oh?"

Ricky pulled him down into another kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck, disregarding of who might be watching. "Let's go home."

He threw his coat aside the second he got in the door, grabbing Tinsley's hand and leading him upstairs with the same excitement as if it was their first time. He kissed him like it was the only thing keeping him alive, guiding him back towards the bed, feeling Tinsley's hands on his waist, travelling up his back. He pushed him down onto the bed, straddling his hips and pinning his hands to the sheets either side of his head. Ricky leaned in, biting the other man's bottom lip, pulling it lightly. He let his lips travel along his jaw, down his neck, and as he unbuttoned his shirt he followed with soft kisses to his skin. Tinsley rested his head back on the bed with a quiet sigh, eyes fluttering shut, his fingers brushing through the other man's dark hair. Ricky pulled open his belt, leaning forwards to kiss him again as he did so. Tinsley cupped his face, rolling them, and he kissed him and he lost himself in him. They made love, for the first time in a long time, and it wasn't angry or cold or hurtful. Tinsley buried his face in the other man's shoulder, feeling Ricky wrap tighter around him, panted breaths hot in his ear. His skin was hot, as hot as hellfire, and Tinsley clung onto it like it was his only chance at salvation.

Afterwards they stayed entangled, wrapped up in each other. Tinsley lifted his head from the other man's shoulder, looking into his eyes, into the blackness. He kissed him, just the once, their lips pressing together softly, parting slow. Ricky turned them back over, cupping Tinsley's face as he pressed so many small kisses to his lips, and he stopped as he felt the hot tears against his fingers. He opened his eyes, looking into Tinsley's watery ones.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, quiet.

Tinsley swallowed, choking slightly on his tears. "Because I love you."

Ricky's brows drew together in a slight frown. "Why would that make you cry?"

A sudden helplessness came over Tinsley's face, his eyes large. He couldn't possibly begin to explain. Ricky should have known anyway. He should have known that what he'd done and who he'd become was unlovable. If he couldn't see that about himself, then he was too far gone. Yet Tinsley still loved him. He guided the other man back down into another kiss, just to feel him, to feel their lips gentle against each other. Tinsley drew him down into his shoulder, holding him close. He stared at the ceiling with brimming eyes, and he was still staring long after Ricky fell asleep.


	13. The Bystander

Tinsley sat by himself, out at the table under the ivy-covered trellis. It wasn't a bad time to be outside; it was a warm and heavy evening, and the sky was darkening rapidly. He was wrapping his tie around his hand, then unwrapping it, then wrapping it again, watching with his quiet eyes. The Mayor observed the gentle movement of his hands for a moment. He was a soft man at heart, he always had been. So how he'd fallen so hard for Ricky really was astounding. The Mayor cleared his throat lightly before speaking.

"Can I get you anything, sir?"

Tinsley paused in unwrapping the tie. His foot tapped the paved stone under him for a moment. "No. I think I'm okay."

"Are you sure? A coffee, perhaps?"

The reply was wishy-washy. "Sure. Sounds fine."

The Mayor lingered. "Is there something on your mind, sir?"

"A few somethings, yeah."

"...I'm not very good at talking, but I'm good at listening."

Tinsley looked over his shoulder at him with a small smile. "I noticed that a long time ago."

The Mayor didn't know if this was an invite to sit down or not. For once, he decided to act. He went to the table and he pulled up his trouser legs a tad before sitting down across the table from the detective. Holly used to be the one to handle such matters. Not that she ever handled them too delicately, but she was good at knocking sense into people. The Mayor wasn't so good at that. He decided to try anyway.

"What somethings are on your mind?"

Tinsley chewed on his lip, gaze lowered. "How did you do it for so long?"

"How did I do what for so long?"

"Just... stand aside." Tinsley looked at him without raising his head. "Some of the things this family have done are just unimaginable. How did you just stand aside and watch?"

The Mayor didn't reply straight away. He mulled it over, his grey brows drawing together a tad. "It was difficult. Many times it was difficult. But I think what's more important to note is that I do regret it. I regret all those times I stood aside."

"Did you regret them in the moment, or only a while afterwards?"

"I'd regret my actions before I'd even carried them out, to be honest with you."

Tinsley sat back, crossing his legs. The tie stayed loosely wrapped around his hand as he took out a cigarette. He rolled it around in his fingers. "Did you ever have the choice to stop what was happening from happening?"

"Yes. But I always seemed to react too late." The Mayor hummed pensively. "If I'd killed Ricky's grandfather before he did what he did to the Montepulcianos, this whole town would be different. But I was a fool, and I waited until afterwards. And it was the same with Ricky's father. I should've killed him the first time he ever laid a finger on Lucy. But I didn't. I waited right until he almost killed her." He went quiet, hands laced on his lap and thumbs rubbing against each other. "I've always been too slow to react."

Tinsley lit his cigarette, waving the match out slowly. "You and me both."

The Mayor pressed his lips together in a rare smile. "You're still young. You have time to change."

Tinsley turned his head to look at him. "I try not to think like that. I like to think that there's always time to change. Takes a bit of pressure off the whole 'life' thing."

The Mayor gave him a long look. "That's a nice way to think."

"Yeah. Can backfire sometimes though." He looked down as something brushed past his leg. "Ah. Cat."

The Mayor scooped her up with a hand and placed her on his lap. For once he didn't mind that her grey hairs would stick to his black trousers legs like glue. She purred. It was a pleasant feeling. Tinsley smiled.

"You're adopting her, are you?"

"I don't think she's given me a choice." The Mayor scratched under her chin. Her eyes closed. "I suppose she would be the lady of the manor. Hierarchically."

"She's the only lady left, isn't she."

"Yes. She is."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Tinsley smoked his cigarette. The Mayor pet Victoria. He watched Tinsley's face.

"You kept the beard."

Tinsley rubbed a hand against his jaw, as if to double-check. "Yeah. I guess I did."

"Any particular reason why?"

There was no reply for a moment. "I grew to like it."

"Good. I'm glad." The Mayor got to his feet and let Victoria slide off his lap. "Would you still like that coffee?"

Tinsley stubbed his cigarette out, also getting to his feet. "Mind if I come with? I don't really feel like sitting out here alone."

"Of course."

Tinsley followed him into the kitchen, and he stood by the counter as he watched the Mayor fill the kettle with water and set it on the stove before taking down a clean mug and putting a teaspoon of coffee in. It was calming. Tinsley bit his lip.

"...I'm sorry. About Holly. I know it was my fault. I started it off."

The Mayor nodded, surprisingly placid. "Thank you for saying sorry."

Tinsley waited. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"You're not mad?"

"I was very mad at first," said the Mayor, waiting patiently by the kettle. "And then I was sad. But while I was here alone I had some time to think, and I see why you did what you did. And in a way I suppose I'm sorry for not stepping in and stopping Ricky from doing what he's done to you."

Tinsley lowered his gaze. "You couldn't have stopped him."

"Maybe, maybe not." The Mayor pressed his lips in a line. "But I should have tried."

"Don't blame yourself." Tinsley rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit ashamed. "I wasn't exactly a damsel in distress."

"And I'm not exactly a knight in shining armour." He gave a small smile, but it didn't seem too content. "I'm just the butler."

They stood in the quiet, listening to the kettle bubbling. The Mayor poured the coffee and handed it to him on a saucer that matched the cup. Tinsley took it with a grateful smile. Then he wandered off into the manor, his feet carrying him across the hall and up the sweeping stairs and down the dark hallway. He poked his head into the parlour. Ricky was laid out on his preferred couch under the window, one foot propped up on the arm and the other set on the floor. He had a book open in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Tinsley kicked the door shut softly behind him.

"Hi."

Ricky turned his head to smile at him. "Hi."

Tinsley strolled over, and he sat down and let Ricky rest his legs over his lap. He drank his coffee and listened to the birds growing quiet as the evening bordered on night. When he was done with his coffee he set it aside, the cup rattling on the saucer. He looked at Ricky, and Ricky smiled back at him. The gesture made Tinsley hesitate; he didn't want to ruin their rare moment of peace. But he had to.

"Are you ever going to say sorry?"

Ricky's face stiffened a tad. Then he looked back at his book. "About what?"

 _About what_. "About what you did to me."

"What did I do to you?"

Tinsley stared at him. "You kept me in that cellar for weeks. _Weeks_."

Ricky didn't respond, his face hidden by the book. "You needed it."

"I _needed_ it?" Tinsley stared at him again. Then he snatched the book from Ricky's hands, closing it over. "Look at me and say that."

Ricky's face was fixed in a glare, his teeth gritted. He sat upright, and he went right ahead and straddled Tinsley against the couch so that their eyes were inches from each other before saying through his teeth: "You needed it."

Then he got off the couch, rolling his sleeves up and striding towards the door. He heard the couch creak as Tinsley stood up.

"Ricky, get back here. I-"

"Don't you _dare_ try and tell me what to do," came Ricky's icy reply. He turned on his heel, crossing back towards Tinsley so that he could jab a finger in his face. "Don't you dare."

"I'm not telling you what to do, I just-"

Ricky suddenly grabbed hold of his hand, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Listen. Listen, we can talk about this some other time. Some other time. Yes?"

Tinsley looked down at him, and he saw Ricky smile, and he knew that he had no intention of ever saying sorry. He went cold all over. "Okay."

Ricky gave his hand a squeeze, a bit too hard to be comforting. "Okay."

There was a knock at the door. A guard poked their head in to let Ricky know that the townspeople were waiting for him. He smiled, a genuine one this time. Tinsley didn't mirror it. He followed Ricky, watching the man shrug on his black coat and pull on his black gloves. Tinsley took his own coat, the colour still the same faded tan. He slipped it on before following Ricky outside. The Mayor followed, but at a distance. His face was ashen pale. Tinsley glimpsed himself in the windscreen of the car. He was just as pale too.

There were still bloody marks on the ground outside the station. They seemed to bother everyone but Ricky. If anything, they seemed to please him. The people were gathered outside the station, in front of the gallows. The nuns had been taken down, but seeing the empty nooses waiting was worse. Tinsley didn't follow Ricky up the steps to the doors of the station. He stood apart from the crowd, alone. He looked back over his shoulder at the car; the Mayor still sat in the driver's seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. The guards stood dotted around like crows in a field, but they didn't look too eager to be there either. Ricky smiled at the gathered townsfolk. No one smiled back. There were a few uncomfortable glances thrown back and forth. Ricky remained smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"I'm sure I don't need to introduce myself. You all know who I am." He raised his eyebrows. "Although I'm under the impression that you'd all somehow forgotten."

The quiet sound of water breaking against the shore was the only reply. A seabird or two cried out. Ricky continued on.

"You all must have terrible memories." He gave a black glove a sharp tug, flexing his fingers as he did so. "I, on the other hand, have a truly incredible memory. I never forget people's faces. Not once. Not ever."

Tinsley watched him warily from over the top of his glasses. He preferred the sight blurred. He watched as Ricky wandered back down the steps, going right up to a woman who had two children clutching her skirts. He looked her dead in the eye and said: "You."

For a few long seconds, she was baffled. Then two guards seized her, dragging her towards the gallows. The two boys tried to follow, but a guard kept them back. The crowd's murmuring rose. Ricky continued on, giving a young boy he passed by a fleeting glance. Even with such a glance, he could remember. He could remember each face that smirked when he was dragged into the station like a dog.

"You."

The boy was taken by a guard, protesting his innocence, just like the woman beforehand. Ricky blocked it out easily, nodding towards an elderly man he passed.

"You."

"Ricky, what are you doing." Tinsley moved in front of him, keeping his voice low as he searched his empty eyes. "They didn't do anything."

"They betrayed me."

"They didn't-"

"I warned them. I warned _all_ of you." He turned to face the people, taking a step forwards. Footsteps shuffled away. "I told you what would happen if you lied to me. If you _betrayed_ me. You all betrayed me." He paused for a few heavy breaths. "This town is _mine_ , do you understand? You belong to me! I'm the only Goldsworth left in this entire world!" He was shouting now, furious, his words snarled. "I'm what's left! I'm Lucy Goldsworth's only son! You all belong to me! To ME!"

Families huddled together at the words. They were all silent. Tinsley had never quite understood the meaning of the phrase 'scared stiff' until that moment. Ricky passed by him, picking out a father, a daughter, a boy who couldn't have been more than fifteen years old. Tinsley's heart was skipping in his chest as he looked at the gallows, where the first three had the nooses slipped on over their heads. He could hear them crying, even from where he was. He hurried after Ricky, grabbing him by the elbow.

"Ricky don't. Don't do this." He stared at him, pleading, but there was nothing looking back. "Let me- Just listen to what I have to say."

Ricky debated it, his gaze drifting aside. "Fine."

They went up and into the station, where they were alone, in the foyer. Tinsley was panting for breath with the panic, his eyes wide.

"Ricky, you can't be serious. You can't be serious about what you're doing." He grabbed his wrists, holding tight. "There's goddamn children."

"That doesn't exempt them from justice." Ricky stared up at him, unyielding. "And they were all for justice when I was at the receiving end. Let's see how much they like it now."

"Listen to what you're saying. _Listen_ to yourself." He swallowed hard. "You can be better than this, Ricky. You can be better than what your family has been. I know you can. I've seen it. You're not what you're pretending you are. You're not apathetic. You're emotional, and I know you know that what you're doing right now is wrong."

"I can't be emotional all the time."

"You can't-"

"They deserve to die."

"If you go through with this I'll leave you." The words burst out, fierce. "I'll fucking leave you."

Ricky didn't react for a moment. Then he took his hands in his own gloved ones, desperately tight. His eyes were alarmed. “But I- I still love you. I do. With all my heart.”

Tinsley closed his eyes. He swallowed hard, but that was the only response he gave. Ricky searched his face with large eyes. The silence lingered, unwelcome. He eventually attempted to prompt a reply.

“...Do you still love me?”

Tinsley kept his eyes closed, but the single tear leaked out anyway, running down his cheek, hot against his skin. It was joined by a few more. Tinsley nodded, biting on his lip hard.

“Yes. I still love you.”

Ricky’s brows drew together at the tone. It wasn’t happy, or relieved, or even just neutral. It was openly defeated. He let Tinsley’s hands slip from his, and they did so with no resistance. His voice was tight.

“Does that make you sad?”

Tinsley nodded again, keeping his eyes closed, his head tilted away somewhat. Ricky didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. His breaths were trembling.

“Why does it make you sad?”

Tinsley took a few attempts to get the words out, and when they came out, they were choked. “Because you’ll never be able to love me back the way I love you. You can’t possibly know how to.”

Ricky's eyes fluttered. “I- I could. I  _could_. I could try.”

“If you have to try you’ve already failed.” He opened his eyes, and the look of genuine helplessness on the shorter man’s face had him weak in every way. “I love you without having to try, Ricky. I love you because that’s just part of who I am. And when I tried not to, when I tried so hard not to… Well, here I am.”

"So- So don't leave me." Ricky swallowed, his vision blurring. “Stay with me. Stay here with me. We can be together. I can love you like you love me. I can.”

Tinsley shook his head, raising a hand to wipe hurriedly at his eyes. He sniffed, a wet sound. Then he spoke the truth that had been on his mind for days. “I don’t want to be with you.”

This caught him off guard. Ricky clutched his stomach like he’d been sucker-punched, his fingers clawing in as if he could rip the emotions right out of him if he tried hard enough. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand. You said you love me. You love me and I love you and why isn’t that enough? Why isn’t it enough?”

“You hurt me.”

“And- And you hurt me.” Ricky grabbed hold of his arms, looking up at him with eyes lined with tears. They clung to his lashes. “But we can forgive each other. We can. If we try we can forgive each other and we- we can be together. You can be with me. Please don’t leave me. Don’t.” He choked on his tears, his fingers digging into the other man’s arms. “You’re the very last thing I have. After you there’s no one. There’s nothing. I can’t do it. I can’t do it alone.”

Tinsley gritted his teeth so hard it hurt, tasting the tears salty on his lips. “I can’t stay here. I’m sorry.”

“Tinsley please. Please don’t.” He was struggling to get the words out around his sobs, his shoulders shaking. “Don’t leave me. I can’t- I can’t go through it again. Please.” He dropped to his knees, clutching at him, his face pressed against his leg. He sobbed openly, loud and uncontrolled. “Please, please don’t leave me, I can’t do it, I can’t do it alone I can’t live my life without you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did and what I said. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Tinsley shook his head in silence as he had been doing for the past five minutes, his eyes squeezed shut. His chest hurt from trying to stop himself from crying. “I have to go.”

"Then- I won't. I won't kill the children."

Tinsley heard the sentence, and it struck him to the core. He looked at Ricky, at this man who thought exempting children from execution was a good deed, a fair trade. He shook his head. "I can't stay with you. I can't."

“No.  _No_.” Ricky hung on as Tinsley took a step away. “I’ll do anything! I’ll do anything just don’t go!”

“Ricky please, don’t do this.”

“Stay with me, stay, I can love you, I promise, I-”

“Ricky-”

“Stay! I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything, I’ll give you everything!” Ricky looked up at him with a tear-stained face, his breaths jumping. “You can have it all. You can have everything I have. It’s yours. I’m yours. Forever. Just please stay.”

Tinsley looked down at him, eyes large and shiny. He crouched down, and he cupped his face softly, and even with just the touch he saw the horror set in on Ricky’s face. Tinsley whispered: “I can’t.”

He straightened back up again, and this time Ricky’s grip slipped off him, numb and ice cold. Tinsley was barely steps away when he heard the first wail, the drawn out cry of life leaving someone’s body. He kept going, even though he could barely see through his tears. He hurried down the steps outside the station, wiping at his eyes, frantic. The crowd was watching him with wide anxious eyes, but he kept his head turned away. He couldn't look back now. If he did, he was lost. And all of a sudden, it didn't matter what he did.

"Take him!" Ricky's voice was shouted, furious, almost indecipherable with rage. "TAKE HIM!"

Tinsley heard the guards crossing the cobblestones. He instantly reached into his coat, turning and aiming the gun at Ricky. The world gasped as one. He pulled the hammer back until he heard the second click, pointing the barrel right at Ricky, locking his wrists. Ricky stopped walking, staring at him with shocked eyes. The guards stopped walking too, looking from the gun to its target. Tinsley swallowed hard, his eyes still watery.

"Let me go," he said, his voice rough. "Or I swear to God I'll pull this trigger."

Ricky didn't respond for a moment. He started shaking his head, slow. "No you won't."

"I will." He didn't lower the gun even as Ricky started towards him. "I'll kill you, Ricky! I will, I'm not joking!"

Ricky simply spread his arms as he crossed the street towards him. "Then kill me, Tinsley. You don't have the guts."

Tinsley was breathing so harsh and heavy it hurt. He watched Ricky come closer, the fury flashing in his eyes. He raised the gun from Ricky and pressed it under his own chin. Ricky froze in place, his blood turned to ice. He didn't breathe.

"Don't."

Tinsley readjusted his footing, swallowing as he kept the gun exactly where it was. The metal was cold against his skin. "One step closer and I'll do it. I'll pull this trigger and I'll kill myself. I will."

Ricky inclined his head a tad, watching with frightened eyes. "Don't. Don't do it."

"Then let me go."

"I can't."

"I-"

"You're all I have left." Ricky wiped at his nose with his sleeve. "I can't let you go."

"Then I'll do it." Tinsley swallowed hard. "I will. If you'd rather me die than just letting me go then that's what'll happen. Either way I'll leave you."

"Don't do this. Please." His face hardened. "If you go I'll kill everyone. I'll kill everyone in this goddamn town and it'll all be your fault."

Tinsley heard the frightened words that came from the townsfolk. He looked at them sidelong, at the children clinging to their parents. He looked back at Ricky who watched him with narrowed eyes, the blade still held by his side. Tinsley looked him in the eye, breaths shaking. He loosened his grip on the gun and tightened it again, seeing Ricky's gaze fix on the movement. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the gun as tight as he could, but he kept his finger loose on the trigger. The air was still, suffocating. He couldn't open his eyes. If he did, he'd crumble. He stood in the middle of the street and fixed his finger more firmly on the trigger. He heard shuffling footsteps, someone making a sudden move towards him before stopping again. Ricky's shoulders rose and fell heavy with each breath. 

"Tinsley. Don't."

They didn't hear the crowd murmuring. They didn't see the familiar face, still dressed neat, as neat as always. He was striding with purpose, straight and unwavering. The crowd parted, as they had on a night long before. The older ones remembered. They watched the Mayor pass by, his eyes calm. He didn't hesitate for even a second. Ricky didn't pay any attention. Why would he? The Mayor had always been in his peripheral vision, always omnipresent, always a ghost in the corner of his eye. He ignored him, he had eyes only for Tinsley, watching his finger where it was pressing onto the trigger. The first gunshots echoed. Then four more followed, ringing loud and clear.

Tinsley's heart stopped, it froze, it iced over. His eyes opened, and he looked at Ricky, and Ricky looked back. He watched Ricky's face, watched his brows draw together slowly into a frown. He watched as Ricky stumbled backwards, clutching his chest, the blood pouring out between his fingers. He looked at his hands, he looked down at his shirt. The blood was dripping steadily to the stone below. He looked at Tinsley with eyes that were wide and confused. Tinsley stared back in stunned silence. He watched as Ricky joined the blood on the stone, dropping to his knees. He teetered for a few long seconds before he fell like a dead weight, flat on his front. The Mayor stayed at the front of the crowd, with the same gun smoking in his hand from thirty years earlier. One voice pierced the silence.  

"NOOOOOOO!"

Tinsley rushed forwards. His knees gave out and he stumbled to all fours. He crawled the rest of the way to him, already weeping, his hands fumbling to turn Ricky over, to look at his face. He sobbed so hard no sound came out. He folded over as he cried, clutching Ricky, cupping his face. His hands shook, trembled like he was going to have a fit. Ricky's eyes stared at him, wide, confused. He didn't want to leave. He coughed, a wet sound, his eyes not leaving Tinsley's, his hands clutching at him, holding on.

"I- I don't-" His words were choked, bloodied, his eyes tearful. "Tinsley, I- I don't want to go-"

"Ricky look at me, _look_ at me." He put a hand on Ricky's chest, feeling the shirt warm and saturated with blood. It stained his skin. Tinsley was hyperventilating, his eyes unfocused. "I don't know what to do, I can't- No, look at me. Look at me!"

Ricky opened his mouth as if to speak, his gaze growing distant, glassy. He looked right through him, at something no one else in the world could see. He breathed a word.

" _Mamá_."

Tinsley shook his head, touching his face, his own eyes wide. "No, no, don't, Ricky don't, _don't_."

There wasn't a reaction. Ricky's eyes were still staring, but they were empty. He slipped away just like that. Tinsley folded over him, clutching him close. He wept, solitary. He mourned alone.


	14. Inheritance

_**Five years later.** _

It was a seaside town. At night it was sketched in pencil. During the day it was painted in the most brilliant oils. The dusk and the dawn brought views that made one and their problems feel blissfully small; the sea stretched out and out, hiding its horizon behind foggy fingers, and the coast road crept behind the coast wall. The houses were still pastel, although not as regimental anymore. The mansion still sat on the side of the hill. This was where Tinsley was going.

It had taken a while to find the town again. It had little to no signs, and little to no people talked of it. But he found it. He drove up the winding road, which had begun to be covered in dead leaves and plants and the roadside shrubs were starting to push a bit too close either side. Soon no one would be able to get up this road. Tinsley didn't find this too upsetting.

He parked the car outside the gates. They were locked with an old but strong padlock. He went to the wrought iron and looked through them. The gardens were covered in weeds and wildflowers. Ivy had started reclaiming the manor itself. It looked hollowed out, gutted. Part of the roof looked about to collapse. Tinsley swallowed hard at the sight. He'd assumed the Mayor would still be in the rooms, attending to the ghosts. It didn't seem so. Maybe he was dead too.

Tinsley went back to his car and sat on the bonnet and smoked a cigarette. He wondered why he'd bothered coming back. He had very little fond memories here. Now that he was actually at the manor, he realized he didn't even want to be there at all. He finished his cigarette and got back into the car and started the engine. He drove without thinking of where he was going. He spared a glance out the side window as the car snaked along the road. The white fields stretched out down the hill to the slatey sea. He looked over his shoulder. The road was empty. The world was empty.

He pulled up to the cemetery with his face stiff. He cut the engine. The silence was as oppressive as the fog outside, like a weighted blanket, but not half as warm. Tinsley stared at the rusty iron bars through the windscreen. He bit his lip hard at the thought of going in. He reached to the door with his left hand. He stepped out into the icy air, sucking it in through his teeth. He closed his door. The gravel crunched under his feet as he moved towards the rusted iron gates, and his breath mixed with the mist. Was it still trespassing if permission had been given to enter over five years ago? He supposed it didn’t matter anymore. The family who owned the land was gone.

He gritted his teeth hard. Then he took hold of the rusted gate, the iron crumbling under his fingers. He pulled it open rather stiffly; the metal groaned morbidly. Tinsley stepped through. The graves were barely visible through the weeds and ivy and wildflowers. It was eerily beautiful. A grand Romanesque building sat down the gravel path, a pale monster, restrained only by the dark fingers of ivy holding it in place. Ricky's quiet voice floated through the air, light as the mist. Tinsley shook his head; he was imagining things. Or perhaps he was dreaming things. He wondered what distinguished one from the other. Perhaps it was the context of what was being heard.

He moved through the dark green grass, so dark it was almost black. He paused beside a jar of fresh red roses that sat solitary. They seemed familiar. He refused to dwell on it. He reached the front of the mausoleum. The gates were the same rusted iron as the front of the graveyard. One was open, not quite wide enough for a human to fit through. He tugged it a bit further, and it opened with the same morbid creaking as the main gate. Tinsley breathed in the dark and the damp and the dirt. He shouldn’t be buried here, he thought to himself. He should be buried somewhere wild and beautiful. Ricky had _wanted_ to be buried in the mausoleum, but he never really knew what was right for him anyway.

Tinsley moved into the darkness. No, it wasn’t entirely dark. There were gaps along the tops of the walls, barred, to stop anything falling in. Or perhaps anything getting out. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Most of the tombs were swamped in moss, but the patterns carved into them were still visible. It was a strange place, a mixture of luxury and decay. Only the two tombs nearest the gates were scraped clean of the weeds and dirt. A name was carved into each one. Tinsley didn’t go to the one marked Lucía Goldsworth. He only went as far as the closest one. He stood at the end of it and laid his hands on the stone, lightly. It was rough and cold under his fingers, just like the man inside had been. Tinsley stared at the carved name until it blurred. Even then he could still see it. Ricardo Goldsworth. Ricky.

He swallowed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t been sure whether or not to bring anything. He hadn’t brought flowers. They’d never been ones for flowers. In the end he’d settled on nothing. The man was dead. That was the end of that.

The crackling of dry leaves on stone made him freeze, a chill going through him so cold it hurt. He stared into the shadows, one hand gripping the edge of the tomb. He couldn’t see anything, but the noise was still there. The leaves were still scraping off the floor, agitated by some unknown source. Tinsley waited with bated breath, but really he was hoping. He refused to run. In the end there was no need to run.

Diablo poked his head out of the dark, head tilted as he looked at Tinsley. His ears were pricked, his eyes bright, and his fur has started going grey around his snout and eyes. Tinsley let out a harsh breath, eyes closing. Then he crouched down and extended a hand. The dog moved slowly towards him, sniffing at his fingers. He let Tinsley give him a scratch on the chin.

“You’re more loyal than I was,” murmured Tinsley, giving him a pat on the side as he came closer. “Although I doubt that’s very difficult.”

“It was difficult to be loyal to a man like him.”

Tinsley leapt at the voice, whipping around with such urgency he stumbled against the tomb. Then he went still. “You’re alive.”

The Mayor stood in the gateway, a satchel over his shoulder. He looked different. He wore a plain shirt under a woolly sweater, and some comfy trousers. He managed a small smile. “Yes.”

Tinsley didn’t quite know where to begin. Half of him wanted to berate the man for killing the one person he was meant to protect. The other half of him wanted to thank him for doing the job so that he himself hadn’t had to. “I passed by the manor. I didn’t think there was anyone in it.”

“There isn’t anyone in it.”

Tinsley looked him over, fists clenched by his sides. “Aren’t you supposed to be in it?”

“My job was to look after the Goldsworths. Not the manor.” He placed his satchel on the floor near the dirt wall. He took out a small bowl and a pouch of wet food. “The dog hasn’t left. Not the entire time. He’s just been here.”

Tinsley watched as Diablo trotted over to the small metal bowl and ate the food that was put in it. “Right.”

The Mayor lingered near the exit. “What brought you back.”

Tinsley looked at the name on the tomb, placing a hand on the stone again. He rubbed a thumb against it. “I don’t know. I didn’t know what drew me to him in life, and I still don’t know in death.”

The quiet went on. “Do you miss him?"

Tinsley hesitated. "...Sometimes. I can go for days without missing him, but then all of a sudden it hits me. But do you want to know the worst thing? I can only remember him when he was sweet and soft and gentle. Those rare moments." He went quiet again, thinking about such moments, about Ricky's bright smile and his genuine laugh and the feeling of his head on his chest when they spent a morning just being. "Maybe that's why I came back. To remind myself that it wasn't like that at all."

"He could be lovely when he wanted to be."

"I know. It was terrifying, really."

"It was." The Mayor went quiet again, although he didn't want to. The silence was always different in with the ghosts. "I'm sorry for the fact that what I did hurt you."

"Don't be." He looked back at the tomb with watery eyes. His voice was a whisper. "He was a monster in the end, and I'm glad for the world that he's dead."

"He was doomed from the moment he was born," said the Mayor. "With all of his family's history on his shoulders, there wasn't a chance that he wasn't going to break."

"I know. I know he was put on this earth to be cruel. I guess that's why he thought he found a soulmate in me." Tinsley sighed wearily, looking at the carved name again. "I never learn."

The Mayor nodded his empathy. "What are you doing now?"

"Being alone. And appreciating the fact that I'm still even here at all." His hand still rested on the stone of the tomb, light. "I've grown to like being alone, you know. I think I just go from person to person hoping they'll give me a- a role to play, I guess. Some part to fill in their life so that mine isn't so unbearably lonely."

"You want them to give you a sense of purpose."

Tinsley looked at him with quiet eyes. "Yeah. A sense of purpose."

The Mayor nodded slow. "I do understand."

Tinsley pressed his lips in a line. "And what are you doing?"

"I'm in a cottage just down the way," he replied. "With me and Victoria. I tried to get the dog to come too, but he was having none of it."

"So you come out here to feed him everyday?"

"Yes. But I also tend the tombs everyday. And the graves." He gave a small shrug. "It's my job, I suppose. Although my name almost became reality after you left."

Tinsley raised an eyebrow. "Mayor?"

"Yes. They tried to make me the mayor of the town. But that's not a job I want."

"It would suit you."

"I've lived my life doing only what suits me," said the Mayor with a small smile. "I'm taking the rest of my days doing what doesn't suit me; whatever I want. As you said, it's never too late to change."

Tinsley smiled at this. He looked back at the tomb, a hand still on the stone. "What's going to happen to his inheritance, hm? Everything he died for."

"The manor's been sold, I believe."

Tinsley looked at him. "Sold?"

"Yes. To some new family." The Mayor shrugged his shoulders again. "There's plenty of Goldsworths out there, in the end."

Tinsley gritted his teeth, imagining someone else in Ricky's room, someone else at Holly's table, someone else in Lucy's office, some other butler answering the door and serving the food. He gave the tomb a lingering tap. "He's probably turning in there right now."

"They all probably are." The Mayor hummed. "It's not a nice thought, some other family being in the manor. Despite everything, it's not a nice thought."

"No. It's not." Tinsley closed his eyes. "I hate it."

"I do too."

They stood in the quiet for a few minutes. The Mayor eventually spoke.

"Do you remember those barrels in the cellar?"

Tinsley nodded at the sour memory of his time with them. "Yes."

"They're not wine, you know. They're not any drink at all. They're boat oil." He sniffed. "From Ricky's grandfather's time."

Tinsley looked over his shoulder at him, and the Mayor was looking right back. "Do you still have the key?"

The Mayor tapped his pocket. "I always keep it on me. To remind me of who I was."

The gardens were overgrown and the rooms smelled like dust and decay. It was soon overpowered by the sharp smell of oil. It only took a light layer in each room to get the job done. Tinsley stood at the end of Ricky's bed, remembering. He didn't let himself dwell on it for too long. He picked up the jug he'd taken and soaked the bed as thoroughly as he could manage. He did the parlour too, even all the books in the ornate case. The Mayor did Lucy's office, and he did Holly's makeshift office along with it. It took the guts of an hour. Afterwards they stood out in the front garden, disheveled but content. Tinsley struck a match, lighting the cigarette in his mouth. Then he wandered forwards, watching the match chew up the stick. He tossed it into the hallway. The flames spread in seconds, throwing off a heat that quickly became unbearable. The Mayor closed the front gates after they'd stepped outside, and he locked them behind him. He turned to Tinsley, who stood with his coat folded over his arm. The fire was too loud to talk over, and it was only getting louder. The Mayor simply extended a hand, and Tinsley shook it firmly. They went their separate ways for the last time.

Tinsley took the long way out of the town, driving through the streets. People were gathering on the paths, watching the fire on the hill with awe. Some of them recognized the detective in the car at the last second, but he didn't slow. He drove out and out. The fire burned bright on the hill. He saw it collapse in the rear view mirror, sending sparks soaring into the air, like thousands of stars returning home.


End file.
